Sherlock Holmes and The Black Scale
by IonitaMircea32
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson are both men who are used to facing evil. But never before have they encountered evil in it's purest form. Until now... Now they have to face that villain, as well as Holmes' old nemesis. Now, they are forced to work with a man who is a convicted murderer and whom they have no reason whatsoever to trust. Well, that man, as well as a certain Night Fury.
1. Chapter 1-A Villain Of The Worst Kind

_**Author's note:**** Alright, so I will be rewriting the earlier chapters of this story, since I found them unsatisfactory. This is the first chapter I will be rewriting****.****  
><strong>**I don't know when I'll be rewriting the other chapters, but hope****fully pretty soon. ****  
><strong>**  
>I<strong>**f you're a newcomer to the story, then please enjoy the only SH\HTTYD crossover that exists on FanFiction. Please leave a review, but no flames! Constructive criticism is preferable, as it makes me better as a writer. And if you find any chapter to be bad (I agree, some of the earlier ones could have turned out better), please remember that when I began writing this, I didn't really know what I was doing. But all the earlier chapters will be rewritten at some point.**_

_**The HTTYD stuff is based 100% of the movies and TV show, nothing book-related  
><strong>_

_**As for SH, I am trying to merge the history of the book canon with the style of the Robert Downey Jr. SH movies as well as a little of BBC Sherlock and even parts of the Frogwares SH video game series, particularly "The Awakened" one of the best traditional adventure games out there, IMHO.  
>With that said, I also took a few liberties with the characters of Holmes and Watson.<br>**_

* * *

><p><span>Watson's POV<span>

: As I think of all the adventures I have had with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I honestly can't think of a more remarkable one than "The Case of The Black Scale".  
>I have never published it, and I never will, indeed if you are reading this right now, it is only because I have given you my direct permission to do so. This is a case which has secrets which the world is not yet ready to know. Nevertheless, I have decided to dig up all my old notebooks on which I have written of this adventure and put them all into one coherent story, even though I doubt that the wide world shall ever read it.<p>

It all started in a day of late February 1896. It was eight in the morning and I was just getting out of a cab. I wrapped my long coat around me better in order to protect myself from the stabbing London February wind. Most of the snow had melted, yet there still was some on the pavement, turned into a brown crumbly mush by the constant traffic of horses and cabs. I was leaning against my swordstick, for the cold always made my old war wounds hurt.  
>I sighed with satisfaction as my eyes met the familiar archway of 221B Baker Street.<p>

I had been gone for two weeks in order to tend to some of patients in the countryside, and to have a small vacation: despite my war wounds, I always enjoyed trekking along mountain paths or long walks in the country. I pulled my keys out of my pocket and inserted them into door. But before I even turned them, the door was opened by a very shaken (and now relieved that she saw me) Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, Dr. Watson, thank goodness you're here!" my landlady exclaimed.

"-What's going on, Mrs. Hudson?

-It's Mr. Holmes. He hasn't had a case all those two weeks you were gone.

-Oh, dear." I muttered gravely. Holmes hadn't had a case for a total of two months now.

Those two months, I had been with him to ensure that he didn't sink into one of his usual depressions. I had gone two weeks being sure that either Inspector Lestrade or any other client will come with a problem that only the great Sherlock Holmes could solve. I was wrong. When Holmes didn't have a case, it was like leaving a keg of dynamite in a match factory. But still, I doubted that it was _very _bad.  
>When Holmes didn't have a case he would usually put on one of his disguises and part take in underground street fights, something which he would undoubtedly call "<em>keeping himself in shape<em>".  
>Of course, signing up with a gym like I did would be far too normal for Sherlock Holmes.<br>Another thing which Holmes liked to do when he didn't have any cases were chemical experiments and crazy inventions.

One time, he attempted to perfect one of Nikola Tesla's machines, which resulted in the sitting room carpet getting burned down in an electric fire which we just had to wait to die down on its own, for trying to put out electricity with water is like trying to put out a regular fire with gasoline.  
>Another time, he tried to create a machine pistol chaingun. In other words, he tried to take the American Gatling machine gun and turn it into a pistol. Thankfully, when he did that I had persuaded him to attempt firing that weapon at the firing range where I went regularly so that I didn't go out of training with my revolver or any other firearm. So he tested it there.<br>The good news was that the firing rate of the rapid-fire pistol proved to be more than impressive. The bad news is that the spread and recoil was so atrocious, that the weapon was uncontrollable for even the strongest of men. There's a reason why the real Gatling machine gun weighs more than seventy pounds and is fixed to the ground.  
>Holmes ended up destroying half the range and almost killed a few customers before I punched the out-of-control gun out of his hand. It took the better part of my monthly salary in order to pay for the damages and to calm the poor gun store owner down.<p>

The worst case scenario was that he had started using that blasted cocaine needle again. Even though it wasn't truly an addiction, for he could go for months without that dreadful thing assuming there were cases, it destroyed him bit by bit.  
>It was simply unworthy of a man of his intellect to indulge in a habit as repulsive as that simply out of boredom. I thought of all of this as I entered 221B Baker Street. I left my luggage and doctor's bag in the ground floor hallway and I took off my greatcoat and bowler hat: I would take them upstairs later.<br>The moment I entered I was greeted by the familiar smell of shag tobacco, failed chemical experiments and gunpowder; I could smell all that even though I was one floor below, the smell was _that _strong.  
>I sighed as I realize that he had once again sunk into a "depression".<p>

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll turn him round. I always do. Now, while I do that, bring something to cheer him up, will you?" I say, putting my hands on her shoulders in order to calm her. She nodded and went to the kitchen. As I began ascending the familiar seventeen steps, I wondered what could have Holmes done in order to frighten Mrs. Hudson in this manner. Surely, there was nothing-

_***BANG! BANG! BANG!* **_

Those loud bangs made me jump and I almost fell off the stairs, despite my familiarity with them. That was gunfire! Oh, Lord, Holmes was shooting the walls for target practice again.  
>I swing open the door to the sitting room. Holmes' tall slender figure was in the back of the room, cloaked in his red morning gown, facing the door. The smell of tobacco and chemicals was so strong here that it made my eyes water.<br>He was holding his revolver, but now the barrel was very long for some reason. But the worst thing of all: he was blindfolded. He was practicing blind shots.

_In the bloody sitting room._

He shot the revolver, which shattered an expensive looking vase I didn't recognize dangerously close to me. I dived behind the sofa closest to me, my soldier instincts kicking in, almost making me draw my own revolver.

"Holmes!" I yell. He shot another vase that was so close to me I felt the shards hitting my jacket and the bullet whizzing dangerously close to my ear. How on Earth did he do that blindfolded!? I dived behind one of the armchairs.

"Holmes, you bloody stupid cock! Stop that right now!" I yell. The blindfolded detective shot another vase.

Wait a minute…

I had heard three bangs in the hallway, and now he had fired three shots, and his revolver was a standard six-shooter. He was out of ammo now!  
>I charged toward him as he was reloading and I rip off his blindfold. He blinked several times at me. He takes his hands to his ears and pulls out two bottle corks. So that's why he couldn't hear me…<p>

"Is that you, Watson?" he asked. He didn't ask this because he didn't know it was me, he knew perfectly bloody well who it was. It was just that he knew he was in trouble and wanted to change the subject.

"Of course it is! And you almost killed me!" I say angrily.

"Nonsense. I was aiming for the vases." Replied Holmes casually.

"-Blindfolded!? You are out of your mind!

-I missed two out of six!" he said with annoyance as he glanced around the room. I noticed the two remaining vases. They were both porcelain, expensive looking Chinese vases.

"-Holmes! Don't tell me that you bought all those beautiful vases just so you could shoot them!

-No, my dear fellow. Remember our last client from a few months ago? He has sent me a Ming dynasty vase collection as payment. I couldn't think of a better use for it." He said phlegmatically.

I put my face in my hands, sighed and shook my head. What would our client think if he saw this? I glance around the room.  
>There was a thick cloud of tobacco and chemicals. For God's sake, there was more fog in our room than on the streets! The Stradivarius violin was slung clumsily over the desk looking as if it was going to fall any minute now. The punching bag was still swinging and the dumbbells were near it, suggesting he had worked out recently. On the analysis table was his huge chemistry set, filled with all sorts of colours, some of the chemicals still bubbling. Near the chemistry set was a scorch-mark; his experiments had once again spun out of control. His face was slightly bruised; he had once again mingled with the decay of society so that he could partake in street fights. I took his revolver from his hand.<br>The barrel was so long because a tube was installed on it. I unscrewed it. The tube felt rubbery, light yet solid.

"-That's a silencer, Watson. I am in the process of inventing a device which is capable of suppressing the sound of a gunshot!

-Well, it's _clearly _not working." I responded dryly.

I once again looked around the half demolished room and took in a deep breath.

"Holmes, as your friend and your doctor, I demand that you stop this right now, and get yourself cleaned up! No, this is shameful! I leave for two weeks and you sink yourself into this mess! Mrs. Hudson thinks that you've gone mad, for Christ's sake, I think that as well! You say you do this because you have no cases, but what client in their right mind would enter a room like this!? Get yourself cleaned up, and allow me to open a window here, I feel like I'm going to suffocate!" I exclaimed as I opened the window and stuck my head out into the frigid air outside.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, how could you!" yelled Mrs. Hudson as she brought in the tea. I had to catch the tea tray for she dropped it when she saw the mess. As she looked around the room she seemed to be on the brink of tears. I put the tea tray on the table and went over to our distraught landlady. I put both my hands on her shoulders.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. The walls will be repaired soon, the ashes from the chemical experiments can be swept up, as well as the shards from the vases. We'll make this room presentable. Me and Holmes will help you, right Holmes?" I turned around to give my friend a scolding look. He was gone.

"Holmes!" I call out. The sitting room door was closed and I hadn't heard it open, so he couldn't have gone out.  
>The window! I once again stick my head out the open window. A steady influx of people and carriages were passing by. I look around, but Holmes must have already mingled with the crowd and went out God knows where.<br>I noticed a tall bearded slender man wearing a shabby worker's outfit and a greasy cap lighting a cheap cigarette, but I paid him no heed. Holmes would later confide that that was him disguised. How on Earth he managed to grab one of his disguises, jump out the window and blend into the crowd so quickly without me or Mrs. Hudson noticing, I'll never know.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson, I'll help you." I said sighing and shaking my head as I realized that Holmes had once again slipped out in order not to have to clean up his own mess. After nearly two hours, the sitting room was finally in the same way as it was before. Of course, we didn't move any of Holmes' things, for he could only find things if they were in his own way of clutter.  
>I went into my room and I sat down into my bed sighing from exhaustion, spending about half an hour nursing my old war wounds and taking a mild painkiller. I got back downstairs to the sitting room to find Holmes, all cleaned up, wearing one of his suits.<p>

"-Holmes, you cunning bloody scoundrel! You make this mess, and now I'm the one who's supposed to clean it up!? You're the one who's going to pay for the plaster of the walls, so don't even ask!

-_Our_ walls." Returned Holmes. Whenever he needed leverage he would put in "Our" which automatically also made it my responsibility to pay.

"Mr. Holmes! There's a man at the door! A client, I believe!" came Mrs. Hudson's voice from the ground floor.

Those words had an almost magical effect on my friend: he jumped out of his chair, grinned widely and rubbed his palms together. Honestly, I was nearly as excited. For one thing, while cases were not exactly what I lived for (unlike Holmes), I always appreciated the thrill of the chase and knowing that by the time we were done, the world would be free of another criminal and devious plan.  
>Second, I knew that finally there would be something which would take Holmes out of his depression.<p>

"He says that he will come a few minutes later, he left a card." Said Mrs. Hudson as she handed Holmes a card. "Daniel Marker. Humanitarian" read the card. The card itself was of the very best quality that stationery could provide, as was the black ink. It appeared to be handwritten rather than printed at a press. Holmes looked very closely at this card.

"-Do you notice anything unusual about this card, Watson?

-Yes. First of all, it tells us nothing about this "Daniel Marker", except that he's a self-proclaimed humanitarian. No address, no number, nothing. Second, rather than being printed, it was written down by hand, which is strange for a visiting card.

-Very astute observations, my dear fellow. Now, let's move on to the graphology. First of all, given the pressure and the size of the letters, it's fair to assume that this man is very strong and has very large hands. And it's clear that he didn't hold down the piece of paper with his left while writing with his right. This either means handicap or that he wrote this haphazardly, which considering the overall meticulousness of the rest of the letters, that is highly unlikely, almost impossible.  
>Now, look at the shape of the 'P' and the 'J'. Their height and shape show that this man is relatively intelligent and rather meticulous. But this is where things get interesting, Watson. Notice how slanted the letters are? This is clearly indicative of acute narcissism, a complete lack of human empathy, sadistic tendencies, a very short temper and complete moral insanity." Holmes said those last few words through gritted teeth.<p>

I was familiar with graphology, but I never thought that one could draw so many conclusions from just a few words written. So a man as vile as that was going to be our guest in a matter of minutes? That description sounded an awful lot like Professor James Moriarty.  
>Against a man like that, we had to take precautions, even if he was our client. I went to my room and took my revolver and swordstick. The pistol still had all six rounds loaded. I put my revolver in coat pocket, arranging my suit jacket in a manner that it hid the bump caused by the revolver.<p>

I came back to the sitting room and I leaned the stick against the mantelpiece and sat down. I could see that Holmes was himself armed, spinning the cylinder of his own pistol before concealing it into his suit. Suddenly, we heard the main door getting swung open and very heavy footsteps ascending the seventeen stairs that led to the sitting room. The door swung open and the man who came in was practically covering the entire door.

In height, he was even taller than Holmes and I had only seen circus strongmen of a heavier build than that man. He was wearing an all-black expensive suit, the kind which only a Lord or the richest of businessmen could afford, along with a pair of gloves. His face was mostly concealed by a broad top hat, a raised collar and a large black scarf, but I could still catch a glimpse of emotionless dark eyes and a few lines, which as a doctor, I instantly recognized them as scars. A man with so many scars on just his face was very unusual. I couldn't imagine the rest of his body being any different. The only part of him that was exposed were his eyes and his brow,

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, I presume?" asked the man in a low, whispery voice which reminded me more than a little of Moriarty.

"It is indeed, us." Replied Holmes dryly while lighting a pipe.

"Take a seat, sir." I say pointing to the sofa, praying that the man's heavy build wouldn't break it in two.

"No, I think I'll stand up." Responded the man, standing as straight as he could despite the fact that he was slightly hunchbacked. I realized that he did this only for intimidation purposes.

"Now then, Mister…" started Holmes.

"Marker. Daniel Marker." Responded the man in his deep voice.

"Your _real _name." requested Holmes firmly, fixing the man with his piercing grey gaze. The man looked surprised for a minute then produced something which I'm sure he wanted to make it sound like laughter, but it sounded more like a sick dog barking.

"-You are as clever as they say, Mr. Holmes. Good, then this will be easier. As for my real name, you shall find out soon enough.

-Get to the point." Said Holmes sternly.

"Very well. You see, Mr. Holmes, your stories are very impressive. Yes, truly, a man who needs a detective or a thinker needs to look no further. But you've never actually helped people who want to make a difference, who want to save the world from the wicked. I shall get to the point: you see, there are people who betray their family, their friends or their country.  
>However, there are other, viler people, who are capable of betraying their own species. You see, Mr. Holmes, I'm a humanitarian, and I am doing my best to prevent these wretches from trampling over the world. With your mind on our side, we shall be able to prevent that." He then took some banknotes from his coat pocket and slapped them on the table. It was then that I noticed that his left arm was completely stiff. A disabling accident, I supposed.<p>

"-That is more money than you've ever received in any of your cases helping common rabble. What do you say, Mr. Holmes?

-I say that you are a liar and a villain who expects any man to do your bidding for money. For those kind of men, you can hire any lowlife or cutthroat in Whitechapel, but not me. You expect me to believe you? You gave little to no information about the case.

-You shall receive all the information you need once we get out of London." Replied the man with what he attempted to be a calm voice, but instead came out as threatening and I saw that his face was starting to twitch angrily.

"Mrs. Hudson. Tea will not be necessary." Said Holmes to our landlady who was bringing in a tray of tea as she always does whenever Holmes' clients or my patients come and visit.  
>I remembered that a few years back, Professor Moriarty had come to Holmes in order to try and make him do his bidding. This situation seemed all too familiar… Holmes' brow creased and he once again fixed our client with his gaze.<p>

"-Now then, Mr… 'Whoever-You-Are', one of the greatest advantages of being a private consulting detective is that _I get to choose my clients_. If you know about me, then you know that information about the case is worth a lot more to me than material wealth. And even if you would tell me everything about this… 'case' for the lack of a better word, I seriously doubt that I would take it. Goodbye, and pray, be sure to close the door on your way out, for there is quite a draft outside." Finished Holmes.

The man began to breathe heavily out of sheer anger. He balled his right fist, but his left remained as stiff as ever.

"You don't have a choice, Mr. Holmes." Said the man, his increasing anger becoming apparent, taking a step toward Holmes. I glanced at my stick, which was just within arm's reach, thinking that I might have to use it.

Holmes stood up, standing up to his full height. Holmes was a very tall man, but even so, his brow was only at the level of the man's nose (which was concealed by the scarf). That didn't matter, though; even when Holmes was glaring at a larger man, it seemed as if Holmes was the one staring him down. Holmes took the pipe out of his mouth and blew some smoke into the man's eyes mockingly.  
>Even though Holmes desperately wanted a case, he wasn't about to help any killer who wandered into 221B Baker Street.<p>

"Get out. I will not take your case, and that is final. I believe you can find your own way out, and please excuse me if I don't wish you a good day or shake hands." said Holmes in his water-freezing intimidation voice.

After a moment of this, the large man let out a yell of anger. It didn't even sound human. It sounded like a rabid animal. Holmes didn't even blink.

When he saw that Holmes was not intimidated in the slightest, he put his hand in my friend's throat, lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall. The large man (if I could call that animal 'man') started to yell like feral once again.

In an instant, I grabbed my stick and hit that man in the back of the leg, making him fall to his knees. Holmes took this opportunity to escape the chokehold and send a knee to the man's nose. Any normal man would have been knocked down, but our attacks merely made him retract slightly.

I drew my revolver and pistol whipped him in the ribs. Just as he was about to try to grab me by the throat, I shoved the barrel of the pistol underneath his nose, cocking the hammer to let him know that it was loaded. He glared at me with more hatred than I had ever seen, which made me shiver, even though I was the one holding the gun.

"Oh, you're an evil bastard aren't you?" I snarled. "You can drop the 'thousand mile stare'. I've seen it before you know." I took a step toward him, pressing the revolver against his chin so hard that I'm sure it caused him pain. "And it _doesn't _impress me." I finished, giving him a glare of my own.

I then heard the cocking of a gun. Holmes had drawn his own revolver and giving our "client" a gaze which almost made _me_ cringe.

"I should like to inform you, _sir_, that if we were to discharge our revolvers into you right now, the law would be completely on our side, for it is you who started the conflict: you grabbed me by the throat, which in a British court is considered attempted murder. All we have to do is claim self defense. We even have Mrs. Hudson as a witness." He said nodding to our shocked landlady. The man continued breathing like a rabid animal, looking at the both of us. There was no way he could disarm one of us without the other shooting or hitting him, he knew that much.

"You will regret this! The both of you! I am a dangerous man to fall foul of!" he yelled, his loud voice echoing throughout the house.

"We fall foul of dangerous men all the time, Mr 'Whoever-You-Are'. Comes with the territory. Now if you could just kindly lead yourself out, otherwise three constables and a coroner will be the one who lead you out: on a stretcher on the way to the morgue." I said lowly and threateningly. After once again trying and failing to intimidate us with his glare, he stormed out, but not before glaring at Mrs. Hudson.

The poor woman was leaning against the wall from that beast, and I had never seen her so terrified. She looked like she was trying to yell or beg, but she tripped over her own words. That was the final straw.

I put my revolver away and I drew my sword from my stick. The rasp of the blade coming out of the scabbard made him turn around, but I quickly put the tip of it against his throat not too hard, making sure that I didn't kill him, but got the message across: no one frightens our landlady without answering to us.

"YOU WILL REGRET THIS! MARK MY WORDS, YOU WILL BEG ME FOR MERCY!" he yelled even harder than before, slamming the door behind him so hard that the hinges almost snapped.

"What a blackguard!" I exclaimed disgusted, putting my sword back into my stick. I then looked at Mrs. Hudson.

She was frozen. She wasn't blinking, not moving, she was just glued into that position of sheer terror.

She was under severe shock.

"Holmes! Quickly! Cold water and a towel! And some brandy! Poor woman!" I yelled.

For once in his life, Holmes listened exactly to what I had said. I sat her down on an armchair and I began to wave my hand in front of her unblinking face. Thankfully, Holmes had brought in the items in record time, so I was able to snap her out of that stance quickly enough.  
>As a field medic in India and Afghanistan, I had seen plenty of people in shock. If the shock is not treated quickly enough, the shocked person can remain insane for life. But of course, the men that I treated from shock were frightened from artillery shells, watching their comrades dying, seeing hordes of Afghans coming at them with machetes… I found it unbelievable that a man's gaze was capable of inducing our normally brave landlady into such a stance.<p>

After splashing her with some cold water and giving her very small doses of alcohol, she blinked, looked at the both of us and began to breathe heavily.

"He's gone, Mrs. Hudson. Don't worry, that bastard won't be bothering us anymore" I say.

"Did you see his eyes?" she asked shakily in a barely audible whisper.

"I've never seen a man with such surren eyes! He…" she trailed off and wiped off tears of shock with her handkerchief.

"Mrs. Hudson, why don't you go for a walk? A nice, relaxing walk to take your mind off things." Said Holmes in his rare sympathetic voice. After Mrs. Hudson calmed down enough so that she didn't shake anymore, she went out for her walk.

"-There is something about that man… Have I ever told you that Moriarty tried to hire me before I actually knew of his criminal empire?

-Yes, Holmes, you have.

-This might be the same situation." Said Holmes looking out the window. Holmes began listing all the deductions he made about the man:

"Suffers from a mild version of giantism, has a superiority complex, he has no qualms about killing anyone who stands in his way, complete lack of empathy, his left arm is missing completely, replaced by a metal peg. Although his face was concealed by the hat and the scarf, I could see scars caused by blades and animal claws, indicative of his violent occupations, and his beard and hair are both very long and carefully arranged, suggesting that he is a foreigner. He has had a near death experience by falling into freezing water about… six months to one year ago.  
>A heavy drinker. A man who has experience in hand to hand combat, and he uses his immense raw physical strength to overpower opponents. Despite his dark skin, he is Nordic in descent."<p>

I didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to realize that that man was a man we would most likely see again. I had seen plenty of criminal bosses to be able to recognize one.

Suddenly, we heard the door creaking open, and someone ascending the steps. Holmes took the pipe from his mouth and listened closely:

"Confident step, expensive Italian shoes. I can hear clinking handcuffs, he is an Inspector, considering his expensive shoes. He has avoided the ninth step, which creaks horribly, therefore an Inspector accustomed to ascending those steps. It's Lestrade!" he said grinning and slapping his hands in triumph.

Indeed, in another second, the small framed Inspector was in our sitting room. He shook our hands and Holmes quickly asked him where the murder had occurred. He deduced from Lestrade's agitation that it had to be a murder which caused him to come.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. A murder. Adam Mortimer, a Norwegian gentleman who has recently retired to London with a small fortune. He was found dead this morning in a disreputable street in Whitechapel known as "Beehive Row". There are marks of violence on the body, but no fatal wound. And we have an ear-witness accounting for a rather interesting dialogue between the victim and the murderer."

Holmes jumped out of his armchair.

"Finally! A murder, no fatal wound, a strange dialogue, and a rich gentleman found in a place as vile as Whitechapel! That's for us! Inspector, pray give us ten minutes to prepare." Said Holmes rubbing his hands.


	2. Chapter 2-Who Was He?

_**Holmes:**_ In less than the time I had predicted, me, Watson and the Inspector were inside Lestrade's police cab on our way to Beehive Row. I had seldom passed this street, but it was stored in my Mind Palace. It was more of an alleyway, but wider than one.  
>Close to it were two pubs, Rat's Head and the Wasp's Nest. This alleyway was very close to Buck's Row, the very same street where Polly Nichols had met her end to the knife of Jack the Ripper. But… that had been a long time ago.<br>Therefore, it went without saying that this area was an incredibly disreputable area. Full of ruffians, gangs, whores, killers for hire, overall the whole assortment of scum of the society could be found here. In fact, I can safely say that the whole district of Whitechapel is the armpit of London.

The alleyway itself was nearly abandoned, only a desolate, disgusting boarding house with barely a few tenants who spent all of their time either drinking, gambling or smoking opium.  
>Therefore it was the ideal place for secret meetings. Watson was writing something in his notebook. I was able to deduce by observing the end of the pen that he was writing about our encounter with our latest client. I felt my jaw twitch as I thought about that demon.<br>There was something about that man… something that reminded me of Moriarty… I had made numerous deductions about 'man', if I can even call him that, yet I knew, I simply _knew _that I had missed something important. Something that was staring me in the face…

"Do you want to hear about the case, Mr. Holmes?" said Lestrade, taking me out of my Mind Palace.

"Certainly, Inspector. Pray tell." I say, stuffing my pipe with tobacco. I had already deduced that this murder had taken place rather early. Lestrade didn't have newspaper ink on his fingers, which meant that he didn't even have time to read his usual morning paper before he was called in. Small stains of butter around Lestrade's fingers and mouth showed that he only had time to eat a croissant from the pastry near his house, and even then he ate it haphazardly while walking, indicated by the crumbs on his shoes.  
>However, the lack of emotion on his face meant that the victim, while rich, was not exactly high profile: Lestrade was always slightly nervous when he was assigned to murders of well-known lords or businessmen, and this wasn't the case.<p>

"The alarm was sounded by a Mr. Webber, an elderly man, occupant of one of the rooms in the boarding house on the street. Shortly after he woke at what he claims was 9:00 in the morning, he heard uneven footsteps approaching the street. Mr. Webber only gets out in order to buy food as he is very elderly and tries to do as little strenuous activities as possible. As soon as the footsteps reached the street, he heard the gruff voice of a man who was already there talking to the newcomer. He also deduced that the voice of the man whom he thinks is the murderer was very young.

"-Ah. You're late. You're Martin, aren't you?

-Yes, and no, Mr. Mortimer. Remember me?" said another voice then. Mr Webber says that he then heard the victim gasp and then say:

"-You… you cunning dog! I'll-

-Enough, Mortimer! I have not come here to fight! Think about what you're serving: a man with no morals, a man who kills anyone who stands in his way. If you truly want what's best for the world, as you claim, then join us. But… please understand that I cannot let you continue serving him either way. I'm afraid you have no choice." Said the other man then.  
>Mr. Webber then heard the victim bark a laugh.<p>

"You!? Are you threatening me, you fishbone? You will die just like your father!" snarled the victim then. Mr. Webber then heard the sounds of a violent scuffle, roars of anger, fists on flesh, insults and groans of pain.  
>However, the witness decided not to go to the window for this. That area of Whitechapel is always the stage for gang wars and scuffles inbetween ruffians. He did not wish to drag himself to the window just to watch two gang members at each other. Suddenly, Mr. Webber heard something which sounded like a match igniting and something catching on fire. Immediately, the victim gasped and released a deathly, piercing scream. And then there was silence." said Lestrade, finishing his statement.<br>I blew some more smoke, making my own deductions. This was a gang war, most likely. A small scale one, but a gang war nonetheless.

"You said there were marks of violence?" asked Watson.

"Yes, a few bruises, a broken nose, and his shirt and collar were almost completely ripped. But that was it. That man wouldn't have been killed by just a few punches; he had the build of a heavyweight boxer." Said Lestrade.

"Don't be so sure, Inspector. As a medical man, I know that a lucky punch can cause severe hemorrhage to the brain or any other major organs which the blow targets, which causes unconsciousness and death within minutes." Said Watson.

"Watson, in that case there would have been some very obvious marks on the body which I'm sure Inspector Lestrade wouldn't have missed." I replied.

Before long, the police cab left the buzzing activity of the City to enter the district of Whitechapel. The cool breeze of February London was replaced by the pungent smell of faeces, cheap liquor, opium and rot.  
>As a detective, I have had to enter this district countless times, yet it never got any less unpleasant.<p>

The police cab pulled up in front of an alleyway, Beehive Row. We all got out. The buildings around were falling apart. Bricks were at the feet of derelict buildings, old, crushed and useless, a testament to the entire district as a whole.  
>One of the larger buildings looked like it was going to collapse over the street at any moment. Some of the windows were boarded up, but one had its boards smashed, leaving a black void in its frame, as if it would transport one to another dimension if they were to dare to pass inside.<br>The only clues that there was any life whatsoever in this wasteland of a street were a few rats who scurried off the moment the cab pulled up as well as drunkards fighting and swearing in the two nearby pubs.  
>We passed a corner and several constables were waving off any curious passer-byes.<p>

I instantly notice that the alley was a dead end: again, perfect for meetings from which only one participant is supposed to leave alive. Also, all of the buildings seemed to be abandoned.

Keyword: seemed.

While almost all of the buildings on this tiny alleyway were derelict and falling apart, a boarding house was occupied: while it seemed to be just as ruined as any other building, I noticed with my above-average vision a pair of reading glasses and a cheap clay pipe laid on a windowsill on the first floor of said filthy boarding house. They were nearly unnoticeable due to how dirty the windows were, but not to me.  
>As I went past the constables, I noticed the victim. A large man, sprawled out over the pavement. As Lestrade had said, he was a very heavyset middle-aged man in an expensive outfit.<br>I instantly noticed calluses and scars on his hands whose patterns indicated that he had been a seaman at some point for a considerable amount of time. Five years, at the very least. The man's top hat was a few feet away from him. I picked it up and analysed it.  
>A very high-quality hat, bought from a hatter located near Old Bailey, judging by the style and ribbon used. Faint steam marks on the front of the hat indicated that this man was a cigar-smoker. I sniffed the mark. An expensive brand of cigars, imported by the Spanish from their South-American and Cuban colonies. A very wealthy man, then.<p>

The man's face was contorted with pain. He had died almost instantly, but it was enough for him to feel the deathly pain and react to it. A very painful weapon, then. But there was no blood around. And poison was out of the question as he had died in the scuffle.  
>Wait… I noticed that the man's jacket and shirt was not buttoned, instead only folded, yet Lestrade had told me that no one had touched the body. The murderer must have…<p>

"He hasn't been dead long, only about one hour, judging by the temperature of the extremities and the stiffness of the limbs. This man didn't die peacefully, look at his contorted face. I'd say, judging by the bruises on the face, that the assailant was about the same height as the victim, approximately six feet. A man in an excellent condition, he must have exercised regularly. Goodness, look at the skin torn off his knuckles, he must have struck the murderer like an express train!" said Watson analysing the man with his keen, medical eyes.

"He didn't strike the murderer with the blow that tore his knuckles." I say, pointing to a broken board from a blocked off window. I took out my magnifying glass and analysed the man's bloody knuckles. Sure enough, he had small wood shavings on them. He tried to strike his assailant, but missed and hit the board instead. I now went over to the victim to confirm my suspicions.  
>I unfolded his jacket and shirt, knowing that the murderer must have folded them. Sure enough, there was a large cauterized wound on the man's chest. It was cauterized so well that it almost looked like a scar.<br>But wait… Mr. Webber had said that he heard a match striking and something catching on fire… a flammable weapon! But how could one design a weapon that is hot enough to cauterize a wound, yet small and safe enough to be able to keep it concealed inside a pocket?

He could have just carried something sharp, a pint of gasoline and some matches, and with a little bit of time, create said flammable weapon in a pinch. Highly unsafe and completely ludicrous, but not impossible. By analysing the dirt on the man's shoes I came to the conclusion that he rarely went outside the rich districts, he only came here because he was summoned here by the murderer, as was suggested by the dialogue which Mr. Webber had overheard. He was summoned, via letter or telegraph, most likely. I look through the man's pockets and I find what I was looking for: a folded letter.

It read: _"Dear, Mr. Mortimer I have heard that the man whose name I shall not disclose, but I'm sure you know whom I'm referring to, is hiring again. I wish to get back into his service, but I know that only one of his lieutenants can do this. I shall meet you at 8:45 AM at Beehive Row in Whitechapel to discuss details." _The letter had no name, logically, but I turned my attention on the graphology.

The paper was of relatively high quality, as was the royal blue ink. The murderer is at least relatively well-off, then. I could tell at a glance that whoever wrote the short letter was left handed. Despite the fact that the letter was written in a relative haste, the letters were rather meticulous and their shape indicated a genius-level intellect. The size of them told me that the man was of a relatively thin build, but not lacking in strength. After all, I am living proof that just because a man is thin doesn't mean that he isn't a possessor of great physical strength. The man's hand trembled slightly near the end, suggesting that he is emotionally invested in this affair.

I then went to interrogate Mr. Webber. Mr. Webber was an elderly gentleman, in his seventies, short and stout. He was walking with a limp and his clothes were cheap, but clean, indicating that while he is a very poor man, he doesn't lack dignity. The old bullet-scar on his neck was too large to have been caused by a revolver, it was caused by a rifle, a war veteran, then. His palms, scarred by a reddish hue, told me of what war. In some parts of India, it is so hot, that some regiments tried to improvise sun-protection cream from local plants, but because the resulting product was of very poor quality, it corroded the palms when applied. An occasional smoker of cheap pipe tobacco, as well as an occasional gin drinker.

"Good day to you, Mr. Webber. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I would like to ask you several details about what you heard." I say.

"Yes, yes, of course. Sherlock 'olmes, the great detective? Hah, the days of that blasted murderer are numbered!" the old man croaked. I deduced from his voice that he also suffered from a mild version of asthma.

"Indeed they are. Pray, could you tell me what you heard? Please concentrate, even the tiniest detail may prove of vital importance later on." I say.

"-Oi already told Inspector Lestrade everything oi know, Mr 'olmes.

-Yes, but can you remember how much time passed inbetween you hearing what you described as something catching on fire and the victim's scream?

-Two seconds, at most." The old man said. Only two seconds. It was impossible for the murderer to have improvised a burning weapon in such a short time.

"-How were the murderer's footsteps after the final blow? Loud? Silent?

-'e was runnin', that's for sure. I don't remember if the footsteps were loud or silent. They were both!" cried Mr. Webber in realisation. I cocked an eyebrow.

"-Both?

-Yes, one loud step, then one normal one." He said. One loud step, then a normal one. We were looking for a peg-legged man.

"Which step came first? The loud one or the normal one? Please, remember, my good man, the investigation depends on this." I say. Mr. Webber scratched his bald head, pondering on this. He then cried out and slapped his hands together.

"The loud step came first! Then the normal one, and so on!" he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Webber, you've been of vital assistance." I say, turning away from him.

Vital assistance, indeed. Considering that the murderer is left handed and that the loud step came first, the left leg is the peg leg. He must only be amputated shin-down as he was capable of bringing down a man with the build (and quite possibly combat skill) of a heavyweight boxer. The suspect was young, skinny, yet strong and skilled in combat, his left leg replaced by a peg, relatively well-off and very intelligent. He sent Adam Mortimer this letter in order to lure him to Beehive Row, a street which he thought to be abandoned. The one thing which was unclear to me was just what kind of weapon was used. The autopsy would probably reveal it, but I wanted to make sure.

"Watson, my dear fellow, could you please accompany the body on its way to the morgue? And assist the coroner on the autopsy, I need you to deduce exactly what kind of weapon was used to kill Adam Mortimer. I know I can trust you with this." I say to my friend. The doctor nodded and assisted the constables in loading the body on a stretcher.

I took a cab back to Baker Street in order to deduce everything else about this affair while Watson was assisting the autopsy. There was something about this murder which bothered me. I couldn't say why, but it wasn't just because of the mysterious weapon.

And try as I might, my thoughts kept on going back to our rude visitor from this morning, who just wouldn't leave my Mind Palace.

Who was he?


	3. Chapter 3- The Suspect

Watson: After our investigation of the crime scene, I had to go to my office, for I had several appointments which I could not postpone.  
>Holmes went back to Baker Street and instructed Mrs. Hudson to not serve him anything until he had said so.<p>

When I returned I found Holmes in his armchair smoking one of his pipes. He had smoked so much that there was more fog in the room than on the streets. "I suspect you stayed like this all day long." I said.

"-Not at all, Watson, in fact I sought the help of chemists, weapon smiths and scientists, not to mention sending my Irregulars to search for men fitting the description of the murderer.  
>-Scientists and weapon smiths? Why would you need them?<br>-To reproduce the murder weapon." As he said this he picked up a grey metallic tube from his desk.  
>"The criminal mind can be most ingenious. In order to reproduce the weapon we used the principle of an American invention called 'the lighter', which is expected to replace matches in a few years. Watch this, Watson."<p>

He then pressed a button on the tube and a long flame came out of it. I thought it would start burning uncontrollably, but instead it remained on the tube.  
>He swung it a couple of times dangerously close to the furniture and then switched it off.<br>"What in the world was that, Holmes?"  
>"The blade is coated with a flammable liquid. When I press the switch, it makes a spark and lights it. When I press it again, it snuffs away the flame and retracts the blade. It is a hot weapon, for a cold blooded murderer. It is concealable, it does not even look like a weapon, and any wound caused by it is cauterized and easily mistaken for a scar if it is not found soon.<br>Now, my Irregulars have pointed me to a more respectable pub, in fact it is more of a gentleman's club. They host fights every night and recently there has been a young cripple fighting. He is known for the fact that he uses his metal leg as an advantage rather than a flaw. He fits the portrait, now let's get to him and see if he is the murderer."

In a few short moments we were in a cab headed for the "Cane and Mitts" public house. It was a pleasant view after the dreadful neighborhood which we had to search in the morning. It was in a rather more privileged part of London. Despite the fact that cabs passed through here at regular intervals, the streets were scrupulously clean.  
>All of the buildings were clean and cheerful, the little businesses like the tobacconist, chemist, physician's office, bakery were all booming. The people around here were all well dressed and were all carrying the arsenal of the gentleman: a walking stick, a top hat and gloves were not missing from any passer-by.<p>

When we arrived at the club, we were led into the cloakroom where we left our hats and canes. Holmes asked the attendant if we were allowed to enter the fighter's locker room. He naturally refused, but a silver sovereign quickly changed his mind. Holmes looked carefully at the lockers and eventually stopped at one with the name "Haddock" inscribed on it.  
>Holmes took out his "toolkit" and quickly picked the simple lock.<br>Inside of it was a strange garment, a leather helmet which matched the color and style of the garment.  
>"How peculiar, Watson" he exclaimed as he took out the garment. It was made out of hardened red and black leather, with multiple buckles and pockets attached to it. Hanging by the sleeves were two pieces of fabric. When Holmes stretched them, they oddly resembled wings. There were also carvings of mythical creatures on the leather. There was also a red button in the middle. When Holmes pressed it, it made a fin come out of the back.<p>

"Why on earth would he be wearing an outfit like this?" I asked.  
>"A very pertinent question, Watson. The leather is strong enough to deflect a blunt blade. And why are there wings on it?"<br>As he put the strange garment away, something fell out of it. Holmes quickly picked it up and examined it. It was a black round coin-shaped object.  
>"What is this? A semiprecious stone?" I asked.<br>"No, Watson it is way too light. And it is not the same material as the garment, so it was likely something that stuck on it."

He then turned his attention towards a tube-shaped object in the locker. It had holes at both ends, and one of the ends was carved so as to look like a crocodile's maw. Holmes, with a look of excitement on his face said. "Watson, I am almost certain that this is-"

But before he could finish his sentence we were interrupted by sounds of footsteps, and Holmes quickly threw the object back in the locker, closed it, and we ran out the other door. When Holmes closed the door, we heard someone enter the locker room. Holmes knocked on the door and it was opened by a young man. This man was in his early 20's with handsome features, dressed like a perfect gentleman in a black suit with red tie. He was tall and rather thin. His hair was quite long and tied at it's ends. He had piercing green eyes which resembled Holmes's own eyes. He also had a small scar on his chin. But his most striking feature was his left leg. It had been replaced ankle down by an iron peg leg with pretty complex looking levers and springs. As a field medic in Afganistan I had seen plenty of amputees and peg legs, but never one that looked like that.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.  
>"Good day to you. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and partner Dr. Watson. We would like to ask you some questions.<br>-The great detective? Himself? Are you working on a case, Mr. Holmes?  
>-Yes, I suppose you could say that. The librarian next door has had a most valuable manuscript stolen last night and he has hired me. What's your name?<br>-My name is … Hector Haddock.  
>-Have you seen anyone near the library after closing time?<br>-No, I stayed here all day long.  
>-I observed that you have a passion for horse riding.<br>-Horse riding? Ah, yes, of course! You looked at my fingers didn't you?  
>-Yes. How long have you been practicing this noble sport?<br>-Over 5 years now.  
>-Really? I would have put at least ten. And your other passion outside horse riding is blacksmithing and you make your own saddles. Burn marks on the back of your right hand, where the sparks have fallen, which also indicates that you are left handed, since you held the metal with your right hand.<br>-You really are as clever as they say!  
>-And that?" inquired Holmes pointing at his peg leg.<br>"-Horse riding accident  
>-It must have been terribly painful.<br>-As a matter of fact, it wasn't. I went unconscious, and by the time I had woken up, they had already put on my leg. Excuse me, but I have to change, the fight starts in 10 minutes. You can watch me in the fight hall, if you so choose.  
>-You're a fighter? With a peg leg and a, no offense, rather thin build?<br>-I am trained, Mr. Holmes. If you kick someone with an iron leg, it is rather painful" he said with a smirk.

Then, as Holmes and Haddock were standing next to each other, it struck me: Holmes and Haddock looked very much alike! There was, of course, the notable age difference; Holmes was a bit taller and their hair was quite different, but that was it. Same tall, thin build, same sharp chin, same piercing green eyes, same long thin fingers.  
>"Incredible" I murmured.<br>"What is it Dr. Watson?" the young man asked with a puzzled look.  
>"You two look very much alike, like a father and his son!" I don't know what I had said, but it upset him. Just as he looked like he was going to cry he said "I… think you should leave. Watch me fight if you wish. Tell Hetson at the door to lead you to the fight hall."<br>And so we got out. "Interesting" Holmes whispered. "He has obviously lost his father recently, and Hector is not his real name; did you notice how he slightly stuttered when he said his first name, but said his last name coherently. Remember how the ear-witness said that he had heard the victim yell 'you will die like your father'? Well, first let us watch him fight, I sense that we will learn something from watching him."

We were led to a small stage by Hetson and sat down at our pointed seats. The arena looked a lot like a small circus, with sand on the floor, and round edges. Then a small, tuxedo wearing man went to the center and announced "Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the main event of the Cane and Mitts public house. Tonight we have strength versus skill. On my left, the giant from Whitechapel, the Brick Wall, Rob Maillet!"  
>This announcement was followed by cheers and claps. The announcer then signaled the crowd to stop and continued "On my right, the Leg of Steel, the Norwegian Storm, already perfect record of 5-0, Hector Haddock!"<br>This was followed by equally excited cheers and claps. Then, out of the left archway came a large, broad shouldered man wearing nothing but trousers and boxing tape. Out of the right arch, was our young friend, wearing the peculiar outfit which we had found in his locker as well as his strange helmet. Despite not being as large as his opponent, his black outfit and mask made him equally intimidating.

Haddock: The large man looked at me mockingly as the referee explained the rules.  
>Before I knew it the bell rang and he quickly lunged at me with a fast jab to my chin. The blow made me see white, but I quickly ducked and weaved to his left to dodge and counter.<br>My left hand sunk in his ribs, making him grunt in pain. I went away from him, the pain from my chin becoming more powerful.  
>With a yell of rage, a feral haymaker glanced my left cheek. I responded with an elbow block and an iron leg to his knee.<br>He stumbled and almost fell, but then grabbed me and threw me across the ring before I could do anything. He then kicked me in the ribs before I could get up.

It was so hard I yelled in pain and tears of agony began to form as the pain covered not just my ribs, but my entire body.  
>But I get up, much to everyone's surprise, including my own. At this point, the heavy kick affected his footwork, so I attacked him with haymakers and left kicks which he could not dodge.<br>All of my seven blows hit their target, and makes him fall. I quickly sit on him and pound his face with the left hand. The referee then yelled to get off. Even though I did so, he couldn't get up anymore.

Thank goodness for the extra sparring with Astrid and Eret! Father would have certainly been proud, defeating a behemoth like that, in less than one round!  
>I certainly am stronger than I thought. And, of course, it's good that I was seasoned in these fights, otherwise I wouldn't have stood a chance against Adam this morning! But, then I have once again failed to find a diplomatic solution, was war and violence really the only answer?<p>

Why am I thinking of this now, it's now time to collect my winnings! But first, I help my opponent up and compliment him on the good fight. He looked rather surprised; he's never had an opponent help him up after being defeated! Before I left, I wanted to impress the crowd once more, this time with Fireblade. My ribs and chin ache, but I bury the pain and rush to the locker room to collect it.

Watson: I whistle in astonishment. "Those were some impressive moves, Holmes. He has good footwork for an amputee." The young man then returned to the arena, with a tube-shaped object in his hand. It was the thing that Holmes wanted to analyze before being interrupted. It then made a sound like a match being struck and it lit, much like I had seen Holmes's improvised weapon earlier. He then swung it above his head and around him. The crowd cheers and claps. He then used the other end of the weapon to spray some green gas around him. He then lights the gas, which burns away, leaving him unharmed. The crowd cheers again.  
>Holmes whispers in my ear "That is our man, Watson, contact Lestrade, I shall apprehend him myself after he leaves." <p>

* * *

><p><em>So, what do you think? This was my first fight scene I had ever written, so sorry if it was too short or boring. Feedback,please!<em>


	4. Chapter 4- The Arrest

Haddock: "Well, they aren't broken, not even cracked." Said the doctor as he changed another cold compress over my chin.

"Although Rob here got his jaw fractured and I don't like the way his knee is swelling."

Rob looked at me with both respect and friendliness; it was difficult to believe that we nearly killed each other mere minutes ago.

"-That's the first time I had to go the infirmary in 6 months. You're stronger than you look, lad. But you really should have seen that kick to the ribs coming.  
>-Oh, I did see it coming all right, I've never seen someone so big move so fast.<br>-How'd you manage to get such good footwork with a bum leg?  
>-I made the leg myself. It has multiple springs and levers which compensate for the fact that it's severed ankle-down. I could explain it's mechanics for hours, but I'm sure I'd bore you.<br>-That's right, you would" he joked.

"After someone beats me I usually buy them a drink, but Doc Hansom here said I'm not moving until he's seen my leg.  
>-Right, look I gotta go now, I am leaving for vacation in Suffolk, tonight." As soon as I went through the door, a tall bearded man bumped into me and apologized on a tone which made me think that he was drunk.<p>

Holmes: I went to Baker Street to disguise myself (when I went out of my room disguised Watson had thought that a vagrant had wondered into our apartment!) and went to the small dispensary near the pub.

I knew that he would be going there after the fight, there is always a minor trauma doctor on duty on afternoons, when they host fights.  
>I knew that Watson would get Lestrade, but I had also deduced that Haddock was going away from London tonight.<br>There was a small suitcase above his locker, which Watson didn't find worthy of mentioning, and the small outline in his pocket meant he had a piece of paper in it. One look at the corner of paper that was coming out of it and I deduced that it was a train ticket.

Because he hadn't taken it out of his pocket and into his locker meant that he wished to use it immediately after he left the pub. The only train leaving immediately after the fight and that was in a train station close enough for a quick getaway was for Suffolk.

I delayed him by bumping into him when he left the infirmary. I then went for a shortcut to intercept him at Tyson Street where I had deduced that he would be crossing.

I placed myself on a corner and waited for him to show up. There he was.

_Plan of attack: First point of attack, his right ribs at which he has already suffered trauma. Stunned, will attempt quick jab at face level, dodge; he will follow up with left kick at ankle level, trip him over; kick to the face before he can get up. In summary: ribs cracked, nose broken, unconscious in 10 seconds. _

Haddock: I cut through Tyson Street in order to reach the station faster. Then, the same bearded man who bumped into me as I had left the pub appeared and said in a familiar voice: "It's over, Haddock, you are under arrest for the murder of Adam Mortimer. You can come quietly"

I felt as if an ice knife stabbed my stomach. It was Sherlock Holmes disguised! Had he already found out? Oh, no, if he takes me I'll serve life imprisonment in the best case scenario! Who would lead the helm then? I'll spend the rest of my life in a British prison, away from those I care about.

I knew that it would serve me right for not being more diplomatic with "Adam"and even killing him, but he attacked me! No, it cannot end like this! If I can escape Holmes and reach the rendezvous point alive, I'll reach Berk, never to be seen again in London.

I I knew that speaking with him would be pointless; his brilliant mind has found me and won't let go of me.  
>I quickly throw a left jab. He dodges and punches my right ribs. The pain comes back stronger than ever, but I can't back down. I jab again, he dodges again, a sudden kick might change the tide!<p>

But it dosen't; he trips me and I fall. I try to get up, but he kicks me in the face.

The street goes blurry and all I can hear is ringing. It's over. My home and my people are defenseless without me. After Berk, who knows what next place will fall?

No, this isn't going to end like this!

I suddenly snap back into consciousness and look around. Sherlock is standing next to me, waiting, possibly for policemen, there's not much time to waste.

I quickly trip him over and he falls down with a heavy thud. He gets up, surprised at my comeback. I jab at him quickly, this time he fails to avoid it, but he then responds with a knee to my gut which makes me go back, grunting in pain.

There's no other choice; he's a better fighter and hand to hand combat is hopeless against him.

I pull out my fireblade. As soon as I swing it he hits my wrist, which makes me drop it. As it fell on the street it lit. As I try to reach for it with my foot for the blade, I make the fatal mistake of turning my attention away for Holmes.

All it took was one big haymaker, and I go unconscious again. This time for good.

Holmes: I look down on Haddock. He put up more of a fight than I had expected. At that moment Lestrade and some constables rushed in the street.

"-Mr. Holmes! Ah, you've caught the scoundrel! Constable, cuff Sleeping Beauty here and charge him with the murder of Adam Mortimer!  
>-And attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes." I said, pointing to the flaming blade.<p>

Lestrade's eyes narrowed and his face became red with anger

"-Son of a-, he's tried to kill you? I'll make sure that he gets the noose for this, Mr. Holmes!  
>- Of course, Inspector, the case is closed.<br>-Holmes!" As I look to where the voice came from I saw Watson rushing in the street.

"-Are you alright, Holmes?  
>-Yes, Watson, another case has been solved. Let us return to Baker Street. You may write a draft of this happening, but it was not that interesting of a case, although the fireblade will remain one of the most ingenious murder weapons that I have seen in my career."<p>

Watson: As I had finished the first part of my draft, I went to the sitting room to see what my friend was doing. He was sitting at his analysis table, looking into the microscope, with a large book next to him.

"-What are you looking at, Holmes?  
>-Ah, Watson. The object that fell out of the strange garment that we found inside the murderer's locker. It's very clearly a reptilian scale, but I cannot find any match for it in my archive!<p>

-Well, it's black, maybe this reptile had a slight mutation? Why are you bothered by this, Holmes? The case has been solved and the murderer will have been hanged in two days' time! Why on earth are you interested in something that was snagged to his clothing?  
>-It is art for the sake of art, my dear Watson. Until another case shows up, I don't have anything else to do but deduce more about the killer. Did you notice how peculiar the garment inside of his locker was?<p>

-Of course I did, Holmes! But it was just for him to look good in the ring!  
>-No, Watson. Why did he have so many buckles on it? Why, to keep himself strapped on something, of course!<br>-Yes, you did deduce that he was a practitioner of horse-riding.  
>-But the calluses at his fingers, which were easy to distinguish from the calluses caused by blacksmithing, pointed that he had been horse–riding for at least ten years on full-grown horses.<br>But he would have been only a child then, in no position to ride full-grown horses.  
>Why, then were the horse-riding calluses so deep?<p>

-I don't know, because he rides very fast horses? It would also explain the extra safety buckles.

-But then, why were there wings?  
>-Maybe it was just a carnival thing?" I said rather doubtfully.<p>

It was unlikely, but I couldn't think of a better explanation. Holmes had an equally doubtful look.

I then retired to sleep, knowing that my friend was just wishing that this case was just a bit longer and more complex.

He deserved it after a fortnight of doing nothing. I read for a bit and then fell into deep sleep.

I was suddenly awoken by the sound of Holmes's violin.  
>I was furious. Playing the violin at 3 AM, again?!<p>

"-Holmes, please, for the love of God, put the violin away and retire to sleep!  
>- A thousand apologies, my dear friend, but I need to think rather deeply about this issue. The Black Scale is very, very strange, to say the least. "<p>

As he said this he took a pair of tongs and carefully picked up the strange scale from the pot burning over the gas fire.  
>"It has been in the pot for over 5 hours." He said.<br>"And yet, it has not burned away, it has not even been damaged in any way, shape or form."

He then looked at me with a very serious, yet very excited look.  
>"It is fireproof" he said.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5- The Hanging

Haddock: I am thinking.

About Astrid, about mother, about father, about _him__**, **_about my home.  
>What else is a man expected to do in his final moments?<br>The worst part? When Astrid will come to the rendezvous point and I will not come, she will come into the city, buy a newspaper, read the headline "**Beehive Row murderer hanged!**" then she will… oh gods.  
>It is all my fault. Why couldn't have I been more reasonable with Maul, or "Adam" as he was known in London? I am a murderer. Yes, he was the one who started, but I continued.<p>

I didn't knock him out, I ripped his jacket until I had a clear shot and… Who have I become? I deserve this. Even more so since the man whom I have idolized since I first read his cases when I arrived in London arrested me.  
>He had every right in the world to do so.<p>

Eret had told me that Maul used to be my worst enemy's top lieutenant. But he was also more kind-hearted, so I had hoped I would be able to reason with him. And I probably could have reasoned with him if I hadn't been so hot-headed.

It took me a while to find him, but when I did, I sent him a letter, making him believe that I used to be on _his_ crew. Then, when he recognized me, he couldn't be reasoned with, but I couldn't let him do _his_ bidding either.

I laid down on my cell bed. Any moment now they will come and take me to the rope. I was able to keep track of days, and I tearfully realized that this was the day in which I was supposed to meet Astrid. Astrid will weep when she will hear of my execution. All of the archipelago will weep.

But as far as everyone else is concerned, I'm just another cold blooded murderer. And I am.

These were my last hours, I knew that I would die today. I might as well think of my finest memories.

Ahh… I'll never forget that first trip I had with Astrid. I chuckle as I think how it started, but then it was just smooth, beautiful sailing(well, not sailing). How she always punched my shoulder and then kissed me. She never left me. How she jumped to my aid by throwing that hammer during the final exam.

Ahhh, and how will mother react to this? She already felt guilty for leaving me for 20 years, she'll fell responsible for my execution. But it wasn't her fault, it was mine.

I try to not think of how _he_ would react to the news. He might not even eat anymore. What will his life be without me? What have I done? I have once again disappointed my late father. I have once again failed to protect my own. Two chiefs dead in two years. It's a disaster and it's all my fault!  
>I try to imagine as hard as I can that I am riding in the sky. It's my last wish, to ride, once more. I might as well imagine it.<p>

The cold wind gently whipping my face, the feeling of being totally in control, yet being in danger at the same time, the feeling when you dive down, and pull at the last moment… nothing in the world can match it.

I was so dumb, so selfish. How could I do such a thing?! It was nighttime already. I wonder why they hadn't come yet to- oh there they are. One of the guards unlocks my door and looks at me with pity and sorrow. The fellow was at least forty-five, so he was feeling rather bad for sending such a young man to the noose.

"-Hector Haddock. Your time has come. Sam, Roderick, cuff him.  
>-I'm not going to run, if that's what you're afraid of.<br>-I'm sorry, lad. May God have mercy on your soul."

I don't know how much I have walked through the prison. I don't know if the walk lasted one minute or one hour.  
>I don't know if the execution chamber was right next to my room, or across the prison.<br>I couldn't even tell if they took me to another building.  
>I didn't have any control over my feet, they were just slowly going forward, without my consent. I was conscious of the guards and other prisoners on the corridors, but I couldn't make out their faces. Everything was blurry, and I could hear a continuous, static sound in my ears.<p>

Eventually we reach a room. At first I think it's just another corridor, but the priest doing blessings and the noose quickly change my mind. Is this how it really ends? Am I really going to die like another common criminal? I deserve to, for what I did, even if what I did was with good reason.

I look out the barred window. There are very few guards outside the courtyard near the execution chamber. No one would ever be able to escape through here. And no searchlight would be able reach this place, no one would ever be dumb enough to try to escape through the execution room.

But something else catches my eye. This prison is in the middle of nowhere, yet I can see a fairly large abandoned house on the hill. I have seen it before.  
>Yes, it was where Astrid had left me! The only window that had vision to that house was in this chamber.<br>And tonight was when she and _him_ were supposed to pick me up! They were only a couple of miles away!  
>But I would be putting them at great risk. Would I do the same for them? Yes, I would, for both of them. The executioner ties the noose around my neck and I feel as if my body turned to ice.<p>

"Do you have any last words?" asked someone, who, I couldn't make out.  
>It was now or never. <em>He<em>'ll save me.

I breathe into my lungs as much of the musty air as I can and yell "TOOTHLESS, HELP ME! THEY'LL HANG ME! NOW, TOOTHLESS! One of the guards gags me from behind and nods to the executioner.

I hear can hear his signature whistle! He's come for me! But it's too late, the ground beneath my feet disappears and I fell the rope tie itself to my neck like a snake. I try to vomit, but I can't, I can't breathe, it's over.  
>I am dead.<p>

Watson: Holmes soon returned to his stance like the one he has between cases.  
>Yet, he smoked a lot, even more so than usual, so much so, that if I opened the window someone from the street would yell "Fire!"<p>

When he smoked deeply, he thought deeply. What of, I couldn't make out. Because of "The Black Scale"?  
>I admit, it was rather strange, but it was most likely nothing!<p>

So what if it's fireproof, rocks are fireproof too! And how can he be so sure that it was a reptilian scale when he hadn't found any match for it in his massive archive of encyclopedias? I was in my room, with the window open, trying to avoid as much of the vile smoke as I could.

When, suddenly, I heard loud footsteps on the stair. I rushed to the sitting room and quickly opened the window while yelling "don't worry, there's no fire!" The man who entered was none other than Lestrade.  
>I had never seen the little inspector so angry and tired.<br>He was breathing heavily, his face was as red as a lobster, his hands were shaking. As Holmes wanted to ask him what was the matter, Lestrade passed out. We both rushed towards him and I quickly went to check his pulse.

"What is it Watson?" asked Holmes with concern.  
>"Stress to the max. Let's get him on the couch."<br>We did so and Holmes rushed to his room to get brandy and vinegar-drenched handkerchiefs. With the help of the brandy and the vinegar, Lestrade soon awoke.  
>He tried to say something, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. It was like a combination of a whistle and a shout. Holmes signaled him to calm down and poured him some brandy. The Inspector greedily swallowed the alcohol and breathed heavily.<p>

If I hadn't known Lestrade better, I would have said that he had completely lost his mind.

"-Mr. Holmes! Th-th-the scoundrel that you caught three days ago…  
>-The young man? What about him Lestrade?<br>Lestrade looked at us with bloodshot eyes and said

"-He has escaped Mr. Holmes!  
>-Well, he shouldn't be too difficult to track down.<br>-He escaped during his hanging! Just as the chair was kicked, someone blew up the wall and the guards were knocked out by the blast! And just before this, when he was asked what his final words were, he called for help, from someone named Toothless, or something.

The outer walls had not been touched! The men have been rallied as soon as the explosion was heard, but there was no one scaling the wall, nor anyone near the prison!  
>It would take an experienced climber at least five minutes to climb the outer wall, yet there were guards there in less than a minute after the explosion! We haven't touched anything, Mr. Holmes we were waiting for you!"<p>

Holmes had a look of excitement on his face which I had not seen in a long time. The desire to close a case, solve a difficult mystery, art for the sake of art, mental gymnastics.

"Oh, yes! Watson, I was wrong, this case is going to be one worthy of your collection!" He quickly got dressed and asked Lestrade to hold a cab for us. As he put his "toolkit" in his coat pocket he said with a smile "Case re-opened!"


	6. Chapter 6- The Escape

_**Haddock:**_ _Darkness._

_Just complete and utter darkness._

_It wasn't a calming darkness, not in the slightest. I felt as if I was being chased by something or that I had to desperately do something for my sake or someone else's. I felt absolutely powerless to move, to breathe, to speak, or even think properly._  
><em>All of the sudden, I was inside a room. A clean, white tiled, well-lit room. There were several people in surgeon overalls circled around a table and I could smell medicine, alcohol and chemicals. Several other people were seated at white desks either performing chemical experiments or looking into microscopes.<em>

_"What did you learn from its brain, Professor?" asked one of the younger scientists._

_Its brain? What were they talking about? A tall, elderly man with an intelligent air about him looked up from his microscope to the young scientist. Judging from his more ornate overall and the fact that he was older than any of the other scientists, he was the leader of whatever project this was._

_"My dear Jeffrey, this is a turning point for science and mankind! Its brain is absolutely outstanding! It is nearly as advanced as the human brain, and I managed to isolate numerous facts, despite the fact that it was shot with a shotgun at point blank range. We can also deduce that it has very high capabilities for emotion, judging from how it practically wept over the man after he was hanged." Said the professor with a very deliberate and phlegmatic air, yet I could sense the excitement in his voice._

_Whatever they were working on, it was important and ground-breaking. But wait… shotgun blast to the head? Weeping over a hanged man?_  
><em>Somehow, my brain kicked into functioning. Something about this was wrong… very, very wrong.<em>  
><em>I felt my heartbeat quicken and my stomach turning into running ice. I couldn't see what they were working on at the table, but they were clearly dissecting something, as their overalls were rather bloody, and they sometimes took bloody organic things out using forceps. Whatever they were dissecting, it was rather large, as the table measured no less than fifteen feet across and there were scientists everywhere. Just as I decided to investigate, I heard the familiar sound of a plasma blast.<em>  
><em>Looking backwards, there other scientists, not in surgeon overalls, but in worker outfits or exquisite gentleman suits. They all seemed very satisfied of themselves, they were grinning widely, shaking hands and pouring expensive wine and whiskey for their victory.<em>

_"Let's fire it up again! I can't believe that we've been able to emulate its blast so quickly!" yelled with excitement in a foreign accent a tall thin man with a moustache in an exquisite suit. I recognized that man as Nikola Tesla. I had seen him in a few illustrated gazettes. He was a genius, at the forefront of innovation in energy and electricity. If he was here, then this was one important scientific discovery._  
><em>A few lab assistants nodded and turned some dials on a very advanced looking machine. It looked like some sort of cannon, only much more advanced. The cannon started leaking electric sparks and gas. It looked… disturbingly familiar. Suddenly, it ejected a blue plasma blast which destroyed several cinder blocks placed strategically around some sort of firing range. I gasp in shock.<em>  
><em>That was exactly like Toothless' plasma blast… Wait a minute… if they were emulating his plasma blast… I heard the professor say that its brain is remarkable and that he practically sobbed over a hanged body just before someone shot him in the head with a shotgun.<em>

_"TOOTHLESS!" I yell. Now I remembered. I remembered realizing that he was able to save me and yelling his name just before the noose tightened. I remembered hearing him come to my aid…_

_He… it couldn't be…_

_I run to the table around which there were scientists gathered. I try to shove them out of the way, but my hands went straight through them._

_I was dead. I was a ghost._

_My breathing quickened, my heart hammered in my chest. I go through the scientists effortlessly to the centre of the table._

_I scream my lungs out. Toothless was on the table, carved up in a way that I won't even dare to describe._

_"NOOOO! TOOTHLESS!" I bend over him and sob._

_It was my fault… When he blasted that prison wall, I was already dead. He then must have killed all the men inside the execution chamber, maybe even more, and then a guard sneaked up behind him and blew his brains out, and now British scientists were trying to learn what they could from his body… I try to touch what little was left of his scales, but once again, my hand went straight through them._  
><em>I sobbed and cried over the body of my butchered best friend, saying over and over how sorry I was and how much I hated myself.<em>

_I had been so, so selfish._  
><em>I should have just shut up and taken my punishment like a man! I deserved to die! A murderer deserves to die! But no! Instead, I dragged down Toothless and Astrid with me!<em>

_Wait a minute… Astrid. What had happened to her? As soon as I thought of my wife, I found myself in a dungeon._

_It was a tower. I looked through a window and saw Big Ben in the distance. So this was a tower, relatively close to Big Ben, which also doubled as a dungeon. This was the infamous Tower of London._

_"Astrid?" I call out. There were two royal guards with their trademark oversized beefeater hat, scarlet red uniform and rifles with bayonets guarding the entrance. Once again, they didn't seem to see me. _

_"ASTRID!" I call out to her. She couldn't be dead too…_

_ Suddenly, I heard a door creaking open. I turned around. A royal guard had opened a trapdoor leading to a basement. There were two guards leading a female prisoner. It was none other than… "ASTRID!" I yell, trying to hug her, my transparent arms only going through her._

_ Gods, it had been so long since I had seen her… She still was just as beautiful as I had remembered. She was wearing the cheap London clothes that she had bought with me during my first day in England in order for us to blend in. I then sent her away, knowing that we couldn't keep Toothless in the woods forever, and that it wasn't worth risking her life as well._  
><em> She now had dark circles beneath her eyes, and speaking of her eyes, those two ocean blue wonders were now bloodshot and filled with tears. Her goddess-like blond hair was a mess, but it still was beautiful. She had done nothing but cry ever since she found me dead…<em>  
><em> The men behind her carried rifles. There were more men than there usually were for simple escorting. I then gasp in realisation: That wasn't an escort, but a firing squad. They were going to execute her. <em>

_"NO!" I scream. I try to grab the revolver from the belt of one of the soldiers, forgetting completely that I was a ghost. I tried to punch, to kick, to strangle, even to bite the executioners, but they didn't even realize I was there._

_ "Astrid Haddock: you are sentenced to death for the practice of Black Magic, obstruction of justice, first degree murder on two of Her Majesty's guards, and last but not least, attempting to free a death row convict. Have you any last words?" asked the captain coldly with no emotion whatsoever as if he were reciting a boring poem._

_ "I don't. Get this over with, I want to see my husband." Said Astrid firmly and bravely, despite the tears rolling down her face. _  
><em>Suddenly, just after Astrid had said that, the front door burst open and two well-dressed men were standing in the doorway. One was very tall and lean, the other, slightly shorter, but far burlier and stockier wearing a thick auburn moustache. <em>  
><em>The tall one was wearing a dark suit and a top hat, the other, a grey suit and a bowler hat. <em>

_They were Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson._

_ I frown. Why were they here? I felt no grudge against the two men, for they did nothing but arrest a murderer, but what reason did they have to be at Astrid's execution? As soon as Astrid laid eyes on them, her face screwed up with hatred and disgust. _

_"Wait. Hold your men, captain. We still have questions for this young lady." Said Holmes, putting his hand on one of the soldiers' pointed rifles and pushing it several inches away._

_ "-Mr. Holmes! You've already delayed her execution several times! Her Majesty herself, Queen Victoria, has ordered her immediate execution! I, as Watch Captain of The Tower of London, order you to leave the premises straight away! _

_-Let us try one more time. Please captain, give her one last chance." Said Watson sympathetically. _

_Yes! Even if I was dead, I knew that Holmes had deduced many things, maybe even the fact that Drago was out there and had to be stopped! There still was a chance!_

_ "GET OUT OF HERE! YOU KILLED TOOTHLESS! I KNOW IT WAS YOU, HOLMES WHO ORDERED HIS 'EXAMINATION'! BUTCHERY, MORE LIKE!" yelled Astrid so loudly, that several guards near her took step backwards._

_ "It wasn't me, it was my brother, Mycroft who ordered that foul deed. I have done my best to stop him, but he has considerable influence over the government, I was powerless to stop him." Reasoned Holmes. _

_"Your homeland, wherever it is, is in great danger, madam. I can help." Said Holmes taking a step towards Astrid._

_ Astrid spat into Holmes' eye. Holmes was completely unfazed by this, but his brow creased as he casually wiped the spit out of his eye with his handkerchief. _

_"SHOOT ME ALREADY! STOP THIS CIRCUS! COME ON, COWARDS, AFRAID TO KILL A WOMAN!?" yelled Astrid like feral once again. Holmes and Watson exchanged glances and they both shook their heads and sighed._

_"Very well. I have offered you the olive branch, you knocked it out of my hand. I could have saved you and your home, you know. Captain, pray forgive us for this rude intrusion. Carry on." Said Holmes as he and Watson exited. _

_I screamed and pumped my fists through the walls in frustration, sorrow, anger, guilt, grief,… _

_I felt every single painful feeling in the world at that point. Astrid and Toothless both dead because of me... My heart felt life it was completely ripped out of my chest and replaced by a painful hunk of ice. _

_"Very well, men. Ready…" said the captain raising his cavalry sword. The soldiers raised their rifles. NO!_

_ I had to save her. In a last-ditch attempt at saving her, I put myself between her and the guns. I knew that I was a ghost, but maybe if I died again I would save her._

_ "Aim!" said the captain. The royal guards aimed their guns at me and Astrid. I unconsciously try to hold her hand, but it just went straight through. Tears were streaking down my face and my heart beat harder than I thought it capable. _

_"FIRE!" finished the captain, swinging his sword downwards through the air. I involuntarily close my eyes. All the rifles discharged at once, creating a deafening sound. My ears continued to ring for a few more seconds and my breath eventually stopped being shaky. Had I done it? Had I saved Astrid? I dare to look behind me._

_ Astrid lay lifeless in a pool of blood._

_ "ASTRID!" I yell collapsing near her. Her once beautiful blue eyes were now staring into nothingness. She didn't even have the chance to close her eyes. I sob. I sob and cry and yell and scream so hard that if I weren't a ghost, all of London would have been able to hear. Suddenly, as I grieve over the body of my wife, I hear a familiar menacing laughter. I turn around and the menacing laughter was from… Drago smiling smugly._

_ Every single feeling of angst inside me turns into rage. Never in my life had I felt such disgust for a man. I scramble for a weapon, completely forgetting that I was incapable of picking up things. The tower around me had faded and I was simply in darkness. I could only see Drago's ugly, scar-filled face, smiling victoriously. _

_"Look at you… you've killed your father, your wife and your best friend within a few months. Useless. Pathetic. The runt of the litter." Said Drago smugly._

_ "Shut. Your. F***ing. Mouth." I say to him with as much venom as I could muster._

_ "You even killed Maul mercilessly. I was wrong about you. You could have made an excellent trapper, even dragon hunter. We are not that different. In fact…" he turned his face away from me for a second. _

_When he turned back to me, I found myself unable to run, to scream, defend myself or even blink because of how shocked I was. I was ready for many things. I was ready for him to try and strangle me like he does to anyone else. I was ready for him to draw a gun or a sword. I was ready for him to cast me down into Hel. What I wasn't ready for was for him to have my face. _

_"… You're no better than me." He said wearing my face. I screamed and I was now free-falling somewhere. I was used to free-falling since I always did it while flying with Toothless, but this was different. It was one of the most dreadful feelings I've ever had. I now no longer had a body. I had visions of Berk, London and the rest of the world. They were all burning. Innocent civilians were slaughtered by either Drago's dragons, The Dark Bewilderbeast or even British soldiers, who instead of their red uniform, now had all-blacks so that it showed that they were now serving Drago. _  
><em>The world was ending by Drago's hand, because of me. <em>

_"This is your fault." An unidentified voice said to me. "It's your fault. This is your doing, Hiccup. Hiccup! Hiccup!"_

* * *

><p>"HICCUP!" Astrid yelled.<p>

I wake up with a jolt, breathing heavily, sweat on my brow and tears in my eyes. I look around. My vision was still hazy, but I realized I was in a forest of sorts. I then realized that there was a woman and a dragon near me. They were…

"Astrid! Toothless!" I yell in ecstasy. I then cough up so hard that my neck felt like it was tightened with barbwire. I remember why… The rope…

Astrid rushed by my side and helped me up. I then feel something heavy and scaly pouncing me hard enough to knock me down, yet gently enough so that it didn't hurt me. The familiar tongue flicked over me, getting me covered in dragon drool as Toothless warbled in sheer joy. Normally I'd have cried out in mock disgust, but now I was just too happy to see him. I looked at him, half-expecting to see him dissected like he was in that dreadful dream. But there he was, in his whole beauty, as happy as he could be.  
>I hugged him tightly, feeling tears sting my eyes.<p>

"Hey, buddy. Oh, gods, I've missed you… Thank you. Thank you…" I say.

I then turn to Astrid. She was wearing the same cheap dress that she had bought from a pawn store on the outskirts of London in order to blend in months ago. At that pawn store, we traded in a few gold and silver coins for "normal" clothes. We said that we were actors and that our clothes were stolen during our play. The shop-attendant didn't seem to believe us, but since he was handling a pawn store in the London suburbs, he was working with criminals all the time, so he didn't even press the question. Shortly after that, I sent her away with Toothless back to Berk.

"Hiccup… when I saw you in that rope…" she said fighting tears, choking herself up. I hugged her tenderly and kissed her with a passion and hunger that had been put on hold for entire months. I never thought that I'd see them again. After that dreadful, dreadful dream I thought that I had actually killed them. Now here I was, reunited with my Valkarye and my beloved Alpha.  
>She buried her face into the crook of my neck which caused me to hiss with pain and retract. The neck mark would be there for quite a while, it might not even ever fade, I thought. I don't remember how much time I spent simply living the ecstasy of being with the two beings in the world I loved the most, but I must have simply let my emotions run rampant for a very, very long time.<p>

"Why were you getting hanged, Hiccup?" she asked, still not letting go of her death grip. As soon as she asked this, I jerked away from her as I felt my throat tightening. Toothless sensed this and tried to comfort me, but I retracted from him as well. They didn't deserve to touch a... murderer like me…

"-Oh Astrid… I… I did something terrible…

-What happened?" she asked wiping my tears and kissing me for the millionth time that day. This time I didn't make any move to retract from her.

"I killed Maul." I say eventually. She didn't even seem shocked.

"I don't know what I was thinking, Astrid. I went to him, and for some reason, I was filled with rage. I told him once that if he wasn't with me, he was against me. Of course, at this foolish statement, he attacked me. But as you know from my letters, I made a living in London via fighting, so I had a few more tricks up my sleeve. During the scuffle, I noticed that I had managed to leave his chest exposed when I grabbed him by the collar. I just took out Inferno and…" I let a sob escape my injured throat and Astrid hugged me and kissed my forehead.

Why did she do that? Didn't I tell her that I was now a murderer? Didn't she know that I had killed Maul when I could have just knocked him out or reasoned with him?

"The way he screamed, Astrid… he… the look on his face… he was so surprised… he didn't expect me to be such a bastard!" I sobbed. She was so tender. And so was Toothless as he nuzzled me from the side. They still were by my side, even after what I did.

"You had no choice, Hiccup. You simply had to destroy the threat he posed. In fact I am proud of you. You stood up to him, and showed him that Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third, proud son of the late Stoick The Vast, won't let anyone threaten Berk or the world as long as he has a say in it." She said, hugging me and even rocking me slightly to soothe me.

"-But wait a minute… There were no witnesses, the fire from Inferno would have cauterized the wound, and yet the police caught you in less than a day? Don't tell me that you turned yourself in!

-No, Astrid. They put Sherlock Holmes on the case." I say. During her short time in London, she had heard of him, and I had briefly mentioned him in one of my letters.

"-I first met him when he came to the club where I lived. It was only a few hours after I… you know… But I didn't think that he was on that case, he told me that he was working on another case for a librarian, and pretended to merely ask me routine questions. Even from those, he realized that I was the murderer. Of course, after this, I knew that it was not safe for me to remain in London, so I decided to go to the town where we would meet in only a few days and where we first landed. But Holmes confronted me on an alleyway.

-And?

-I tried defending myself, and to my pride, I managed to get a couple of decent shots on him. But, Holmes also happens to be one of the most skilled fighters in the British Empire. When I realized that I didn't stand a chance against him, I… I tried to kill him with Inferno." I say sobbing once again.

I couldn't believe what a wretch I had become. I had also tried to kill one of the most brilliant and honourable men in the world. He was a man who had saved the world on multiple occasions. And now, if Drago managed to have his way and defeat me, Holmes was the only chance the world had left. Why didn't I think of that as I drew Inferno from my coat the second time?

"-He still defeated me. He disarmed me and knocked me out. Twice.

-Why that son of a half-troll! If I find him, I'll feed him his magnifying glass!

-Astrid, he only did his job. He arrested a murderer." I say shakily.

As soon as I said this, Astrid and Toothless both went to my side to soothe me. I would never forgive Maul's deathly scream…  
>I don't know if killing him with Inferno was truly what I wanted or if I just acted on instinct, but either way, I had killed him, and dying in that noose was what I deserved… I noticed a few bags of something around Toothless. They weren't from Berk, and they seemed to have been recently brought in.<p>

"Went shopping, did you Astrid?" I asked pointing to the canvas bags.

"-Yeah, this old dress did the trick, no one even looked at me. Bought some food, drink, even some books. Still had some British money left from last time, made good use of them.

-Good, good… did you get any liquor or tobacco?" I ask.

I wasn't a drunk or a chain smoker, not by any means, while I was in London, a bottle of brandy and a case of pipe tobacco usually lasted me two whole weeks. But after three days in prison, a dreadful nightmare and the ecstasy of seeing Astrid and Toothless again, I just felt the need to loosen up a bit.

"Yes, I did get them, Hiccup. I bought them before I rescued you. I thought that I'd simply be expecting you to just walk to where we were. I didn't think that you were…" here voice trailed off and I put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her in order for her not to think again of me kicking helplessly in the noose.

"But it's not a good idea to drink or smoke with your throat like that." She said.

My throat like that? Come on! Yes, it still stung, and it felt tight, but I could breathe properly, and that really was all that mattered. Astrid took a small mirror, showed it to me and OH MY THOR!  
>My neck was swollen, and it had a very nasty-looking reddish purple bruise which would probably turn into a scar. Right… the brandy and the pipe could both wait a few hours, I thought. This is when I also noticed that I was wearing the same clothes as I had three days ago: they didn't want to waste uniforms on death row inmates.<p>

"So what now, Hiccup?" Astrid asked.

"-First, we should wait for it to get dark, we can't risk anyone to see Toothless, and it's barely dawn. Then, we get back to Berk. We are deep enough in the forest that no one should come here, and even if they do, we can hide.

-Right… so we just wait the whole day out?" she asked.

I stroked her beautiful, blonde hair while giving her slow, deliberate kisses on her lips, nose and forehead.  
>This innocent ritual soon turned into something much more passionate as I suddenly pulled her in for a much deeper kiss.<br>Soon we were both on the ground, holding each other in grips like vices. I took in all her beauty: how her blonde hair flew across the grass and how her blue eyes widened with love every time I kissed her.

"Toothless, bud, why don't you go in that cave for a while, hmm?" I say to him with a smirk.

He smiled widely while making some cheeky coos which I'm sure was "advice". He knew exactly what both me and Astrid had in mind…

"You have no idea how much I missed you…" I say while I was unbuttoning her dress.

"I missed you more." She said breathlessly as she did the same thing to my waistcoat and shirt. I laughed as I thought that all the romantic poets in England viewed making love in the woods as some sort of unreachable romantic utopia.

Well here we were…

I knew that Toothless was watching us hidden, the sly little devil, but I didn't care. I just wanted to make up for lost time with my wife.

I believe that a discreet silence about all that happened next between me and Astrid is in order…

_**Watson:**_ After a short train ride to the outskirts of London, Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and I were all in a police cab on its way to Blackgate prison. The ferret-faced Inspector still was as red as a lobster from anger and he was breathing heavily. I couldn't blame him: If it ever got out that one of England's highest security prisons was so vulnerable, then all Hell would break loose across the country: the public trust in the police force severely affected, the Minister of Justice resigning, the Blackgate prison demolished, not to mention the fact that Inspector Lestrade had interests in the prison, as he was in fact one of the investors, therefore his reputation as an Inspector would be irreversibly tarnished.  
>We had already questioned Lestrade on the train. Apparently, someone blew up the wall just a second after the rope tightened. The blast knocked out all the guards in the room and before any of them could come to their senses or before any of the other guards around the prison could come to the chamber, the prisoner was gone.<br>What was baffling was that there was no way that the prisoner and his accomplice could have escaped! The wall was over twenty feet high, there was no tunnel dug underneath, no marks of climbing tools on the walls, nothing!  
>It was as if Haddock and his accomplice had vanished into thin air!<p>

We reached the infamous prison soon enough. The area around was deserted: except for a relatively large house on a hill about a mile away, there was nothing else around. The prison itself was imposing: the walls were tall and one foot thick, made out of solid concrete. The watch towers had powerful searchlights and guards armed with scoped rifles. I could tell from the way they handled them that they had all been in the service of the Army at some point. As we got out of the coach and approached the gate, one of the watchtower guards came running to us.

"Oi! You're Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, right?" asked the young bearded guard anxiously.

"That is correct." Replied Holmes.

"-I knew that Inspector Lestrade would put you on the case! I just wanted to tell you what I saw! I was in the watchtower, late at night. I was just going through another night shift, sitting in my tower, reading the "Times" and drinking coffee to keep myself awake. Suddenly, I heard the whistle that came before the blast. It sounded somewhat like wind howling, only sharper. Then, there was the blast. That made me throw my paper aside and grab my gun. Suddenly, as I was looking around for anything out of the ordinary, I saw something flapping through the air. It looked like a red scarf of sorts, but it was flapping way too vigorously for the feeble wind that was last night to have picked it up. But I was called downstairs to look for the escapist before I could take a look with my rifle scope.

-Was there anything else outside of this elusive red "scarf"?" asked Holmes.

The guard shook his head in negation, but then his face instantly lit up.

"-Oi! Yes, there was! I could see something around it, but I didn't get a closer look because of the dark. Whatever it was, it was black and big. I don't know what it was, Mr. 'olmes, probably nothing, but I just thought you should know.

-You thought wisely." Said Holmes with a barely concealed smile.

We then got inside the prison. It had the usual suffocating atmosphere of a prison. Only that it was much worse. The air was musty and dust floated in the air. The prisoners were rowdy due to the fact that lockdown had been in effect since the blast that liberated Haddock. They didn't get as much as food or water, the lockdown in Blackgate was infamous for its ruthlessness.

"Let us out in the yard, ya buggers!" yelled one of the prisoners shaking the bars.

Suddenly, as I was walking near the cells, a large tattooed hand grabbed me before I could do anything and slammed me against the bars.  
>The prisoner inside had grabbed me and his hands were now around my throat.<br>Some of the guards drew their pistols, but they couldn't shoot without the risk of also injuring me. Holmes rushed towards us, his walking stick in hand, but he was too far away.

"Let me go, ya sons o' whores, or I'll snap 'is neck!" yelled the muscular ruffian as he tightened his grip. Thankfully, I knew exactly what to do.  
>I quickly put one hand over his own hand, ducked suddenly while twisting it forward, and once free, I snapped his wrist.<br>He screams in pain, but I still don't let go of his hand and I pull him toward me, slamming his head against the bars, breaking his nose and knocking him out instantly.

"Get that prisoner to the nursery and then to the brig for a week!" ordered Lestrade to one of his men as he holstered his gun and sighed in relief.

"Bloody blackguard." I muttered as I straightened my collar and massaged my slightly bruised throat.

That ruffian surely had some sort of mental disorder and the lockdown had made him lose his mind completely.

"Are you alright, Watson?" asked Holmes with genuine concern written all over his normally stone cold face.

"Yes, Holmes, don't worry, that goon was no match for me." I said waving my hand dismissively. Lestrade then guided us to Haddock's empty cell. Some prisoners were chatting in a nearby cell, but I paid them no heed.  
>Holmes began his usual meticulous search, with slow, deliberate movements as he looked over every inch of the room with his magnifying glass. After about a quarter of an hour of this, he put his magnifying glass away.<p>

"Nothing really conclusive. However, he was very concerned and melancholic, which suggests that he may not have expected rescue. Also, he had no visitors." Said Holmes.

"The fact that he was concerned is evident from the fact that he hardly even touched his food: that much is obvious from the deep plate marks on the pushcart here. However, he did drink some coffee, which is shown by these stains here, which also shows that his hand was shaking while handling the cup. This also shows that he drank nothing but coffee: his hand was shaking, therefore if he had drank water I would also be able to notice some stains. The prisoners in the neighbouring cell were talking about how they pitied the young man who stood here, talking to himself and sobbing. This proves that he didn't expect to be freed. Another sign of his concern are the marks on the bed: notice how worn the mattress is in the middle: he stood here all the time, but he didn't sleep, otherwise the entire mattress would be worn. This also shows that he had no visitors, otherwise he would have gotten up from the bed. This proves that whoever bailed him out didn't inform him beforehand. " Concluded Holmes.

After this we went to the execution chamber. It was a complete mess.  
>The few objects that were around the room were scattered everywhere and the wall had been blasted open, hence the scattered bricks. All the guards inside the chamber during the failed execution had been knocked out by the blast, but by some miracle, the scattered bricks hadn't hit anyone. Most of the guards had yet to regain consciousness and they were recovering in the infirmary, and the few that did come to their senses all had the same testimony: when Haddock was asked what his last words were, he looked out the window as if he had seen something or <em>someone. <em>After that he yelled "Toothless! Help me!" at the top of his lungs. The guards quickly gagged him. Suddenly, they something like a combination between a whistle and a scream. It became louder and louder, and a few seconds after the chair was kicked, the wall was blasted open.

"The whistle may have been from a chemical reaction." Said Holmes.

I assumed that Toothless was a nickname for some criminal, but it was a very common street nickname, so we didn't have much to go on.

Holmes picked up a brick and turned it on one side. There was a very peculiar bluish burn on it. Holmes sniffed it.

"A very peculiar kind of chemical bomb, I've never seen anything quite like it. It contains sulphur, but the rest of its composition is a mystery to me."

I glanced at the severed rope.

"A very clean cut. It was cut with a very sharp blade." I say.

To prove my point, I took the other end of the rope and cut it with my swordstick. The two cuts were nearly identical.

"A very sharp and thin blade, designed for combat. However, it was shorter than your sword, Watson. More like a dagger. Handled by a small strong hand." Said Holmes as he compared the two cuts.

We then went outside through the ruined wall. As Lestrade had said, the outer wall was untouched: Neither I nor Holmes spotted any marks left by climbing tools on the walls, and there wasn't any kind of tunnel that had been dug. Not that anyone could have dug a hole around the prison: he or she would have easily been spotted and a tunnel would have taken good hours to dig. Just as I was about to step somewhere to get a closer look at the wall, Holmes outstretched his hand to stop me.  
>I looked down and saw why: there were marks on the ground. Not footprints, but rather faint dragging marks as if someone had tried to conceal their prints. It was impossible to identify the print that way. Holmes got on his knees and analyzed the traces with his magnifying glass. Eventually, he put the glass away and asked one of the guards:<p>

"-Do you have any guard dogs?

-Of course we do, Mr. Holmes. In fact, we tried using scent hounds to find Haddock, but he seems to have already gone very far away.

-Are any of the dogs unnaturally large?" asked Holmes.

The young guard's face screwed up with confusion.

"No sir, none of the hounds are gigantic. They are large, powerful dogs, but nothing unnaturally so." Answered the guard after regaining his senses from the odd question.

"There was an animal here, Watson." He said pointing to the drag marks.

"It was a very large animal, with multiple toes with claws." He said. This was getting really weird: the escapist had also managed to bring a large animal inside? First of all, how was he or she able to do so without anyone noticing? Second, how on earth could a large animal help with blowing up a wall using chemical explosions? A gigantic hound… I inevitably recalled the terrifying case of "The Hound of The Baskervilles".  
>It certainly had been one of the more exciting of cases, but also the one of the most terrifying. That wretched false monstrous hound gave me sleepless nights for many years after it was over...<br>My train of thoughts was interrupted by Holmes calling my name with excitement. He pulled a small, oval, black object from in between the cracks of the bricks. I get closer in order to look at it.

As soon as I set eyes on the object, I gasp for air and a shiver ran down my spine.

It was the Scale.

The Black Scale.


	7. Chapter 7- A Mutual Plan

**Holmes: **Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be true.

This was one of my many mottos.  
>And I have always applied it in my cases, and in the case of Haddock's escape, I had ruled out the possibility of the accomplice scaling the wall: there was no way anyone could have scaled a twenty-foot tall wall, set the explosives, then climb back over the wall with a half-strangled man without being noticed.<p>

Then there was the possibility of his accomplice being one of the guards; a more plausible theory, but it still had solid objections; he didn't know anyone in the prison.  
>Therefore, his accomplice must have infiltrated the prison somehow.<br>I have questioned some of the guards; they were not able to see what was going on near the execution chamber, but one of the watchtower guards said that before the explosion he heard something which sounded like a combination of a whistle and a scream, which culminated with the sound of a blast, and then, a second later, the sound of the wall being blown up.  
>Afterwards, he rushed downwards to see what was going on, but out of the corner of his eye he was able to see something flapping in the air. He said it looked like a red scarf, but it was flapping way too vigorously for the low wind that was that night to have picked it up.<p>

Two explosions… this must mean that the accomplice triggered some kind of chain reaction: a gunpowder trail?- One explosion to light the trail, the second one to blow up the wall.  
>But why use an explosion just to light a gunpowder trail? Besides, there was a distinctive burning smell in the ruined chamber, but it was not gunpowder, nor was it dynamite… it was somewhat sulphurous.<br>It was a home-made bomb, then, not a bomb made out of the TNT or gunpowder that was found in the prison storerooms. Furthermore, nothing was missing from the prison supplies.

Therefore, the one possible explanation is that his friend had entered the prison, disguised as a guard, somehow made his way to the back of the execution room, made a chemical reaction, which explains the whistle and the smaller explosion that came beforehand, blew up the wall, took Haddock and supplied him with a uniform for himself, and then blended in and exited the prison during the confusion.  
>But there still were two things which bothered me.<p>

First, about the murder itself. It appears that the victim, Adam Mortimer, was killed because he had an allegiance with an underground organization which opposed that of the murderer's.  
>Why had I not looked into this? Why did I just focus myself on the crime itself rather than the motive? What if the victim's organization is a criminal syndicate, of whose scale rivals that of the late professor Moriarty? But then again, it could be Haddock's organization that is a criminal syndicate, or, most likely, both of their organizations are criminal syndicates at each other's necks.<p>

Why had I not thought of searching Mortimer's place first? For the most celebrated private detective in London, I have certainly overlooked vital clues, but then again, if I had dragged on with the investigation for too long then the murderer would have certainly escaped. In fact, I had reached my conclusion just before Haddock took a train to safety!  
>But now I know one thing for certain: I must search Adam Mortimer's house to see what was truly going on.<p>

Then there was one more thing bothering me. The Black Scale. I had so far found two of them: One that was snagged to Haddock's peculiar garment from his locker, and another one stuck in the bricks of the ruined wall.  
>I had received the courteous permission of the director to use the prison lab. This scale was also fireproof. Put it together with the smeared animal footprints outside and we get the fact that whatever or whoever owned the scale, was the one who came to Haddock's help.<p>

Perhaps the Scale isn't a scale at all and it's some sort of new fireproof armor? The cases of "The Hound" and "The Awakened" had taught me to also look for answers which were a bit… out of this world.  
>Something that has a fireproof black scale, is able to jump (or fly) over a twenty foot wall, is smart enough to smear away it's own footprints, and can help with blowing up a wall and disappear quickly and I had also taken into consideration the non-matching deepness of Haddock's horse-riding calluses also combined with the fact that he had a rather more pale complexion, as if he had spent a lot of time at high altitudes.<p>

Maybe if… no, it is silly to believe such things.

"-Well, Watson, I believe that we have learned all that we could from the prison. There is something very strange about this affair.

- And made you say that Holmes? The fact that a death row inmate could escape during his hanging, the fact that there are no marks of climbing tools on the walls, the calling of "Toothless", whoever that is, just before the explosion or the unexplained presence of footprints belonging to an animal which is not a guard dog?" said Watson with sarcasm.

"-Jokes aside, Watson, yes, all of these things.  
>Also, whatever that animal is, I have little doubt that it is the carrier of The Black Scale. So an animal, most likely a large reptile, that is capable of vaulting over a twenty foot wall, wait for it's master to blow up the wall into the execution chamber, and then disappear within seconds together with at least two persons, one of them half-strangled.<br>It was also clever enough to partially smear away it's footprints.  
>Why would the accomplice bring along an animal? It dosen't make any sense. Unless the certain creature is vital to his or her plans.<br>Now, what creature that we know of: is a large, black reptile, capable of scaling a twenty foot wall, can somehow help in creating a very quick explosion, and leave so quickly that no one even caught a glimpse of it?

- Well… not any creature that we know of. Wait, unless."

Watson then started to laugh hysterically, but after a few seconds, he coughed and looked at me with a very grave stare.

"-Holmes, you, out of all of the people in this world, you should be the last one to suggest that Haddock was broken out by a… a fairytale creature!

-It still is too early to jump to conclusions, Watson, especially to such far fetched ones, but our experience in the sinister case which you have named 'The Awakened' should have taught you that just because we do not know anything of certain things, it does not mean that they do not exist.  
>However, something else bothers me.<p>

-What, Holmes?

-One of the guards had told me that while he ran from his post in order to see where the explosion came from, he saw something which looked like a red scarf picked up by the wind out of the corner of his eye. If we are to accept the paranormal explanation, then the dragon was black. Why then, the red shade?

-Maybe it is able to change color? It is a reptile, then maybe it has skin-changing properties, like a chameleon?

-No, Watson. Why would it color itself red if it had to hide in the dark night, especially if it was already black?  
>But, then again, while this theory sounds ridiculous at first: even I had to argue with myself in order to consider it, you will see that no other theory is able to stand.<br>Anyway, we should now head over to Adam Mortimer's house.

-The victim from three days ago? Why Holmes? You think he dug his way out of his grave in order to save his murderer?

-Of course not Watson. But remember the dialogue the murderer had with the victim before the struggle? It suggested that the victim had some things to hide of his own. We have seen everything here anyway. Let us take a cab and a train to the outskirts of London.  
>I live in hope of a case as exciting as 'The Awakened' or 'The Final Problem'.<p>

**Haddock: **"Ach! Toothless stop that!" I yelled as he kept on licking me.  
>It didn't matter how many times he did it, it never got more awkward.<br>Astrid was laughing along with Toothless as I was (futilely) trying to wipe off the drool from the suit.

"Stop laughing, both of you! I only picked up this suit four days ago! There was some chance I could get all the prison grime out of it, but now it's doomed.  
>Do you have any idea how much I saved up to buy it?<br>From the best tailor in Charing Cross! They don't make suits like this anywhere else!"

But as I said this, as much as I wanted to remain serious, I broke down in laughter myself.

"-Well, now that I'm soaked, I hope you've also got me some clothes!

-Yeah… about that…" said Astrid rather sheepishly

"-Please don't tell me I'll have to remain like this until we reach Berk. It's a few days' worth of flying!

-Well I have bought a man's morning gown.  
>-A morning gown? Seriously?"<p>

I have to say it was rather nice,velvet red with shades of gold, although not at all suitable for sitting around a campfire in the forest.  
>This was the type of morning gown that one would wear in the early hours of the day, so as not to look embarrassing in case of an unexpected visit.<p>

Which reminded me…

"-Astrid, I have killed Maul or 'Adam Mortimer' as he was known, but we still have no more information about Drago or his plans.  
>I should have searched his house! There's bound to be some information there!<p>

-Yeah, it's a bit too late for that, is it not? You set foot outside this forest, they will arrest you faster than you can say 'Help'!

-I have heard that his house was on the outskirts of London. I have caught the address. Isn't this forest close to London? I will be able to enter his house, which is rather lonely, get information, get out without even setting foot in London!

-No, don't do it! I'll come with you!

-Someone has to stay with Toothless. What if we both get caught? He can't fly on his own, he'll be stuck here!

-I'll go, then.

-You can't pick locks, and this set of clothes, although soaked, it will make me blend in with the crowd in case of anything.

-I don't want to lose you again!"

She starts to sob again. Toothless just looks at me with those big green eyes with disapproval.

"-Look, I promise I'll be careful. His house isn't that far. There's only a small village nearby, and London is a few miles away, there's not a chance any constable will be at his house.

-Wh-what about Sherlock Holmes? From what you've read to me, he's one of the most intelligent men in the world. He's already caught you once!

- Come on, if he didn't search Maul's house when he got murdered, what are the chances he'll do it now?"

She eventually agreed. It was our last shot at getting anything about Drago's plans. We hugged and kissed for what seemed like hours and I cut off one of my locks of hair as a memento for her, if I never came back.

As a memento for me, she gave me her hairpin, which when she removed, made her blonde hair fall into what looked like a waterfall of gold made by the valkeryes.  
>Her hairpin also made a perfect lockpick.<br>Before I set off she punched me on the shoulder so hard I winced.

"That's for getting caught!" As expected, she kissed me deeply after this. I savored every moment. Her smell, her lips, her eyes, even Toothless staying next us, gently nuzzling us. I remembered every moment, for I knew that the prospect of getting caught again was very likely.

And if that happened, they would make sure that I wouldn't escape again.

I set off for Maul's house, Wine's Lee.

Little did I know that the great Sherlock Holmes had the same plans…

* * *

><p><em>Another one done! Please review!<br>And in case you're wondering why I mention Hiccup by his family name, it's because Holmes and Watson are mentioned by their family names, so I wish to be consistent._


	8. Chapter 8-Revelations

**Watson:** We had taken a cab to Wine's Lee.  
>Holmes had just stuffed his pipe with strong tobacco and smoked, eyes closed, drawing slow, long puffs out of the pipe.<br>This was what Holmes was like when he thought of something very deeply. I knew better than to ask him about his plans.

And boy, did I have questions. While Holmes's theory about how Haddock escaped was… far-fetched, to say the least, it did in fact start to make sense: The explosion caused only within minutes from the name "Toothless" being called, the sulphurous smell, the fact that there was no one around the prison, the whistle before the explosion, the fact that there were no marks of climbing tools on the wall, and, of course The Black Scale, it all added up.

And, indeed the case of The Awakened had most certainly taught us that when all other possibilities are gone, look into the impossibilities, and then think whether or not they truly are impossible. While the theory that the reptile whose scale got snagged on Haddock's strange outfit, was also the one which helped him break out was without a shadow of a doubt true, then that inevitably lead to more… unusual conclusions.

I knew that Holmes knew more than he had told me, but I knew how much he loved to leave me in the dark until the end of the case. But, still, I couldn't think of anything that we could have found in Mortimer's house that could have told us about Haddock's whereabouts.

"So, Watson" said Holmes  
>"While Haddock's whereabouts are unknown, and I doubt that whatever we find in Mortimer's house will tell us where he is, this case is most certainly deeper than just a young man's vengeful murder and escape. There is a web of deceit around these two seemingly simple crimes.<br>While what we are doing is not exactly legal, it is very unlikely that anyone will see us, and I'm certain that the payoff will be well worth it."

Holmes then looked at his watch and said

"-Only 1:00 PM, good, we have time.

-Have time for what, Holmes?

-To find Haddock. I have reasons to believe that he will be gone beyond our reach as soon as it is dark.

-I'm not sure I quite follow you.

-When he escaped, there were only a few minutes left of darkness. This 'dragon', if you so wish to call it, is bound to… attract attention unless he flies in pitch-black darkness."

After a few minutes we were at Wine's Lee. It was a cheerful, two-story brick house.

"It is very lonely." Said Holmes thoughtfully.

"Remember what I had said,Watson, in the case of "The Cooper Beeches" that not even the vilest back alleys in London don't compare to the amount of crime that is to be found in this sort of loneliness. Even in those disgusting streets, if a woman is being beaten, or a man robbed, a constable may pass by and stop the crime. Out here, one can have the vilest of secrets, and the police may not even suspect a thing."

We crossed the small stone pathway that led to the front door. Holmes stopped me from moving any further and analyzed the pathway with his magnifying glass.

"-There was no servant. Interesting.

-However did you figure that out, Holmes?

-The yard is very large, yet it is unkempt, weeds are flowing over, and nothing is planted. There was not even even a gardener, even though he could have easily afforded one. If he dosen't even have a gardener, which even some of the lesser off families hire sometimes to pick weeds, it means that he dosen't have any other servants either. The only reason that I can think of not to have servants when you could afford it is if you've got something to hide. I was right, Watson! There is something! Now, let us pick the lock."

But as soon as he inserted the pin into the lock, it opened.

"Hmm, this door was open. Let's see…" He then unscrewed the door handle and analyzed the lock.

"This door was not just forgotten unlocked by Mortimer. If he had such a deep secret that he wouldn't even hire servants, he would take great care to lock his door. This lock has been picked with a hairpin, by the looks of it."

We entered the house, which was a complete mess- Books were scattered everywhere, all of the drawers opened, even some of the wall panels had been kicked in.

"Someone had broken in here. He was searching for something. He didn't take anything of value. Silverware, vintage wines, paintings, pottery, all of which are worth a fortune each, have been left here.  
>He or she was searching for something specific. In fact, we've just missed him! Look!<br>This shelf, from which these books were knocked off, it is not covered in dust. Not even slightly.  
>It is not covered in dust because books were on it. It should have become dusty mere hours after the books were removed, especially since there isn't anyone in the house anymore to clean it.<br>Someone's been here only a few hours ago." Holmes concluded.

Upstairs, things were just about the same. Some of the doors were smashed. Holmes looked at the smashed doors with great interest

"-Interesting, the doors below were simply picked, yet these are completely smashed from their hinges. They look as though they have been kicked.

-Maybe there were two burglars with two different methods of opening a locked door? They split up: one for the ground floor, the other for the upper floor, maybe?

- A very astute theory, my dear Watson. But it is more likely that there was only one person who was searching for a specific item. He or she started breaking these doors in order to save time, and because he or she started losing their temper."

Holmes searched through the house himself, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Or, almost nothing…

"-It seems that whatever the burglar was searching for, he didn't find it.

-How do you know that he didn't find it, Holmes?

-Because I have." As he said this, he removed a candle from the candlestick on the wall and pressed a button in the now empty candle-holder.  
>A grinding sound was produced and a portion of the wall sunk into the ground revealing a stone stairway which led into a basement.<p>

"It was very clear, Watson, that this house had a basement, this being made evident by it's support design. Since we haven't found any, it was clear to me that the basement was hidden."

I drew my gun and Holmes lit a candle for me to advance into the basement. It was, understandably, very dark, since this house hasn't been lived in for almost four days, any candle or fire was now out.  
>We reached a door and Holmes carefully pushed it open, gun in hand. He lit a lamp that was hung on the wall and the room slowly illuminated.<br>My readers will forgive me if I do not describe in full detail the objects that 'decorated' the room.

They were animal heads, hung up, much like you see at taxidermists. But these animals were… unlike anything that we had ever seen before.

Holmes himself, a man who had the most steeled nerves I had ever seen gasped for air and took three steps back before cocking his gun. These creature heads were all scaly and quite large. The only thing that I could possibly compare them to are crocodiles or… dragons.

Whoever stuffed these creatures hadn't done a very good job, as the smell was quite sickening. We must have spent minutes just staring at these taxidermist objects, before Holmes broke the silence.

"-Well, Watson, my crazy theory about Haddock's escape now looks much more plausible, dosen't it?

-I don't know what to say, Holmes… how… when… why…" No matter how hard I tried I couldn't form a question. It was beyond belief what we saw.

My friend then went to the desk and took a few papers. They were all written in some sort of cipher.

"-Watson, you have read my monograph on secret cyphers, haven't you?

-Yes, Holmes. I suppose that you will use the same method as the one you had used in the case of 'The Dancing Men'?

-No, Watson. This isn't just a code. It's a language of it's own. It has elements of old Norwegian and old English, but amazingly it seems that it is phonetically identical to modern English!

-How can that be, Holmes?

-That is for us to find out. This is a very unusual kind of paper, very coarse, it seems that it was made using archaic methods. But these papers here are written in the same language, but on conventional paper, and they are not in the same handwriting.  
>Therefore, the coarse papers are sent from somewhere where it is not possible to find modern paper, and these papers here were written by Mortimer and were about to be sent. Wait, the coarse papers!<p>

-What about them, Holmes?

-It took me a while to observe it, since it is written in a different alphabet, but I have seen this handwriting before…" said Holmes gritting his teeth.

"-Watson, remember our 'client' from three days ago?

-The one who grabbed you by the collar and then frightened Mrs. Hudson?

-Yes, Daniel Marker, although I doubt that's his real name. This is his handwriting.

-Are you certain?

-Again, Watson, it is written in a different alphabet, so it is impossible to say, but, yes, I am almost certain. Let us leave, Watson, there is nothing else we can do in this godforsaken house. We went out of the basement, and Holmes insisted that we go out the back door.

"-Why, Holmes, do you want to go out the backdoor?

-This is why, Watson." He said pointing to footprints on the ground that were visible as soon as he opened the backdoor. He quickly got on his knees and took out his magnifying glass.

"These footprints are medium in size, I'd say about size seven and a half. But, Watson, only the right foot is visible. Why is that?"

He then clapped his hands loudly while yelling "Ha!" and quickly pointed to a rectangular mark inbetween two right footprints.

"- The burglar was peg-legged. The left leg.

-Hector Haddock!

-Precisely, my dear Watson. He wished to find a certain something in Mortimer's house. The strange maps and letters that we found in the basement and are now resting in my coat-pocket, were most likely what he was looking for."

The footprints were leading to the fence. Holmes vaulted over the fence and then told me to do the same.

"-The footprints are leading to the forest, Watson. That is his hiding place.

-Let's contact Lestrade!

-It is not that simple, Watson. Haddock is not the cold-blooded murderer we initially thought him to be.

-What do we do, then? Shouldn't we arrest him?

-First of all, Watson, like I said, I'm starting to doubt that Haddock is a true criminal, second, I don't think it's a good idea to arrest him while he's being guarded by a creature that can blow up walls. We shall first return to Baker Street, translate some of these papers, then, depending on what they say, I shall either tell Lestrade to gather all of his available men and attempt to arrest Haddock, or, if these papers reveal what I'm expecting them to reveal, I shall present Lestrade false evidence which shows that Haddock is innocent, and then we shall attempt to talk with the young man and find out more about this case. Either way, we shall have to be very careful in approaching Haddock and his … dragon."


	9. Chapter 9- A Walk in the Woods

**Haddock:** "I didn't find jack-shit!"

I am not really the type to curse, but this situation really did get on my nerves.  
>I risked my life going into Maul's house and I found nothing, absolutely nothing that could have given me a better idea of Drago's plans.<br>I risked getting captured again and leaving Astrid and Toothless exposed.

I get shivers down my spine thinking of what they would have done to Toothless had they found him while I was out… This was so dumb of me!

"-Well, now that you screwed up, again, I hope that at least nobody saw you.

-Don't worry, Astrid, his closest neighbors are miles away and I don't think constables ever pass by there. That's exactly why he chose that place; it's so secluded that no one would ever be able to see or hear you doing anything there.

-So there must have been something! You just didn't look hard enough!

-Yeah, maybe."

Toothless slapped me with his paw from behind so hard that I fell flat on my face. He then snorted disapprovingly. I can be such a screw-up sometimes.

"-But I looked everywhere in his house! I even kicked open some of the wall panels, nothing!

-Alright. Now give me back my hairpin."

I gave her back her pin. At least I got some lock-picking training while looting his house. From yelling a bit, I made my throat hurt again. Toothless still cooed with sorrow every time he eyed my throat mark. Even after starching my collar so that he wouldn't see it, he still made that sob-like coo. He must have missed me. After all, the first time he saw me in one whole month was hanging by the noose. I hadn't thought about that until now. All there was left to do now was to just stay put until nightfall. I thought about smoking another pipe, but I eventually decided against it, and instead I decided to make up on lost time.

"- You know, Astrid, every time I got beat up in that ring, when it hurts so much I'm thinking 'just punch me in the back of the head so I don't feel nothing no more' , I got up, and won. Why? Because I thought I saw you in the crowd.

- I should have come with you. I'm sorry.

-What for? I'm the one who should be sorry. I, the chief, went on a field mission, because of my supposedly high negotiation skills. The plan was to turn him to our cause, not kill him.

-Maybe it's for the best, Hiccup.

-Eret told me that Maul was the most light-hearted of all of his lieutenants, well light-hearted by Drago's standards doesn't mean much, but if I could change Eret's mind, I could have changed his.

-Still, your mission was to just eliminate the threat that he posed. You did that.

-At what cost? I am a murderer now.

-Don't talk such rot, Hiccup! He attacked you!

-No. I first provoked him with words. I… I _**wanted**_ to kill him. I've got this… thing inside of me. Vengeance? Maybe."

Almost without realizing it, I reached into the tobacco pouch and lit the pipe with a burning twig from the fire.  
>That twig reminded me of <em><strong>Inferno<strong>_, my fire-sword_**. **_ I remembered how proud I felt after I had finished it in the forge. The ultimate cutting tool, weapon, and dragon-taming item, all in one. Now, because of my stupidity and short temper, it will sit forever, gathering dust in a drawer in Scotland Yard.  
>Or maybe Inspector Lestrade decided to keep it as a prize. At least then it would have <em>some<em> use.

And my beautiful, sleek, flight gear. How much I had worked in order for it in order to allow gliding alongside my best friend… that was lost as well. I couldn't wait to just get on Toothless again, wish which will have been granted as soon as it was dark.

Now, I planned to send someone else in London, since it couldn't have possibly been just Maul who got involved in foreign affairs.

But, who to send?  
>Time would tell.<p>

**Watson:** During our entire ride from Wine's Lee to Baker Street, Holmes was in his trance. Even more so than usual. I tried to talk to him a couple of times, but he didn't even respond.  
>This was one strange case.<br>I was still trying to wrap my head around this. So, Daniel Marker was involved somehow with the late Adam Mortimer.

I remembered that they both were ship captains, so it was possible. But what would Haddock have to do with them? Clearly, Haddock killed Mortimer for more reasons than just to avenge his father. He tried finding information inside Mortimer's house after escaping.  
>Holmes convinced me that Haddock's crimes were excusable, and that he could prove this by translating some of the papers.<br>We reached Baker Street at about 3 PM and Holmes quickly took out a few historical dictionaries and started examining the papers at his desk.

"-Holmes, why are you not writing down the meanings of this language?

-Because, my dear Watson, figuring out the alphabet was child's play. I can read them very clearly. In fact, much more clearly than I would wish…" said Holmes gritting his teeth yet again.

He then put all of the papers back into his coat-pocket and said that he was heading to Scotland Yard.

" -What do the papers say, Holmes?

-I cannot say that right now, Watson. I shall meet at the inn closest to Wine's Lee at exactly 4 PM. I wish to end this affair by talking with Haddock, however I would recommend slipping your revolver into your pocket. And you would do no harm if you would replace the ordinary bullets with the high-explosive bullets which I store under my bed: Bullets that explode on contact are an excellent argument against creatures that can blow up prison walls.  
>But you must not rush to draw your revolver. I wish to end this on good terms with our young friend."<p>

I hadn't felt this afraid since I went in India and later Afganistan as a young soldier. We were about to try and negotiate with a man whom had escaped hanging and was probably guarded by a creature that can blow up walls and disappear in seconds!  
>Alright, nobody saw the creature, therefore it cannot be too large, probably the size of a horse, which did soothe me a bit.<p>

One terrifying experience I had as an officer in India was when I was attacked by a tiger while searching for a rebel camp in the jungle.  
>My so called 'comrades' ran as soon as they saw the beast. I had managed to shoot it right inbetween the eyes.<br>It was so close that I had in fact managed to kill it during it's jump!  
>I was trying to reason with myself that if I had survived that, I could survive whatever Holmes was taking me into.<p>

As Holmes left for Scotland Yard, I exchanged the conventional bullets from my revolver with Holmes's special explosive rounds which he once made at his chemistry set out of boredom, but were very effective. I was then on my way to the inn near Wine's Lee.

This was going to be one eventful night… I arrived at the inn a bit earlier than the time Holmes had established, but he still was there, a tall figure cloaked in a brown greatcoat and a deerstalker cap of the same color, his garments of choice every time he went into the countryside, sitting at a table, deep in thoughts, with a very large travel bag by his side.

"-Ah, Watson, you're early. However, that is not a bad thing, as time is of the essence.

-Why, then did you tell me to come late?

-Because I had expected my argument with Lestrade at Scotland Yard to last a bit more.

-Argument with Lestrade?

-Yes, Watson, I had just tried and convinced our good Inspector that Haddock is innocent, and the true murderer is Thomas Ape, a low level violent psychopath who murdered his wife in a fit of rage last year, yet he was cleared of all charges due to a lack of evidence. It pleases me greatly to know that scum will finally be hanged.

-Holmes!? Are you telling me that you just sent an innocent man to the gallows in order to clear the name of a murderer, escaped prisoner and now burglar?"

Holmes chuckled.

"-Innocent, Watson? Firstly, didn't I already explain what a dangerous man this Thomas is? Second, I have already explained to you multiple times that Haddock's crimes are excusable. The things which I had read in the notes found in Mortimer's house confirm that. In fact, I wish to help Haddock.

-Pray explain, Holmes." I said rather icily.

"It will all be explained to you tonight, my dear Watson. But to satisfy your curiosity, I shall say that Daniel Marker is a man whom not even Moriarty could ever hold a candle to."

I could see that Holmes was convinced that Daniel was a dangerous man, as I could see a mixture of hatred and disgust in my friend's eyes as he spoke of him.

"-This 'Daniel', although I have found out what his real name is from reading those papers, I shall keep on calling him that.  
>He has the brain of Professor Moriarty, the ambition of Napoleon the 1st and the cruelty of Jack the Ripper. Have you got your gun?<p>

-Yes, and I've loaded it with your special rounds.

-You shouldn't have. I shouldn't have told you to take your revolver, especially since you can be a little hot-headed. Still, only draw it if I tell you so.

-What have you got in that bag, Holmes?

-Cakes for my old grandmother.

-Ha, ha! Your grandmother? Seriously, Holmes!

-Seriously, Watson, your curiosity shall be satisfied soon enough, so stop asking. I hope you're not adverse to a walk into the woods?

-I'm with you no matter what, Holmes. I would follow you to Hell and back. You can count on me.

-Good, then there's no time to waste. "

We then went back to Wine's Lee and Holmes quickly took me behind the house and sighed with relief as he saw that the footprints hadn't faded yet. We then went into the forest, but the footprints were faded away here.

"-What do we do now, Holmes? There's no more footprints and this forest stretches for miles!

-You must listen to the clues, my dear fellow, they tell a story. They tell us that he went through here.

-How do you know?

-These fibers are from expensive clothes, these ones that are snagged on the branches."

I had to stare at the tree for a full minute before I noticed some threads stuck to the twigs.

"-How on earth did you notice that, Holmes?

-Because I was looking for it."

Holmes kept on guiding me through the forest until we reached a river. He noticed something on the edge of it. It was half of a fish. He showed great interest in it.

"It is slimy, although it is very fresh, only fished about one hour ago. And what a strange smell"

He then took a bite out of the raw fish.

"-Holmes, what are you doing!?

-Ugh. Bitter.

-Are you mad!? What if it's poisonous?

-Watson, when was the last time you saw poisoned fish on the edge of a river? And anyway, there's a doctor nearby. It is slimy, bitter, fresh, and these appear to be bite marks, so… oh of course. I can be such a moron at times." He then tossed the fish aside and threw it a disgusted look.

"-What did you deduce from that fish, Holmes?

-I'd rather not say it, my dear fellow." He said grimly.

Suddenly, as we walked, he stopped me in my tracks and I could see a look of fear in his eyes.

"-What is it, Holmes?

-Shhh… you must not draw your gun. Your very life may depend on it…" He then did something strange.

He gently took his gun from his coat-pocket with two fingers only and tossed it aside. He then raised his hands in submission and said:

"We are here only to speak. We wish only good for you and your friend. Please, we have heard of what Drago Bludvist has done, what kind of a 'man' he is. We wish to help you"

I could see that he wasn't talking to me. I looked in the direction that he was looking to.

If I hadn't had nerves of steel I would have ran backwards and yelled for help.  
>I saw something in the shrubs which I could only describe as an enormous panther with green eyes the size of saucers, staring right at us…<p>

**_Well, another one done! Guess what's in the bag Holmes is carrying! As usual, please review!  
>P.S. I am planning on removing the prologue, since it wasn't that good.<em>**


	10. Chapter 10- A Dreadful Question

_**Chapter rewritten on 20th February 2016**_

* * *

><p>Watson:<p>

I couldn't believe it.

The beast looked back at me with a toxic green gaze which chilled me to the bone.

I could hear it growling, and despite the fact that the growl was soft and only a warning, I still felt it plummeting into my heart and stomach and turning them into ice.  
>I held my hands up, wondering if this… creature was capable of understanding the gesture of surrender. The dragon was completely jet-black, its body dominated by that single colour, so much so that I actually had to focus my eyes to see that it actually had scales.<br>Despite the fact that it was partially covered by shrubbery, I was able to estimate its size to roughly fourteen feet in length, without the tail.

My heart began racing faster than I thought it capable. Not even while dodging bullets in Afghanistan had I felt this panicked, this powerless.  
>The beast's eyes narrowed even further, a green gaze which penetrated me like an ice knife. The beast revealed its razor-sharp, knife-like teeth, which were surprisingly white.<br>It didn't take a genius to realize that this creature was probably swifter than a tiger and at least three times stronger.  
>Despite the fact that it was thirty feet away, it could have leapt on me in less than a second.<p>

Beads of sweat were beginning to form on my forehead and I began to breathe heavily, my lungs begging to be full of oxygen for any dreadful eventuality.  
>My heart was beating so hard that I could hear every single beat as clearly as if I was listening to one of my patients' heartbeats underneath a stethoscope. I looked over at my friend, whose stoic, unreadable face was now terrified, eyes wide, mouth agape ever so slightly. Still, his steely eyes, while wide, had a certain determination about them and I could almost see the gears turning inside his head.<p>

_"What have you gotten us into this time, you bloody pompous prick? Please tell me you have a plan, at least." _I say to him wordlessly.

He nods and gives a half smile, as if to say 'yes' to my mental question.  
>I looked at his gun, which he had discarded and was a few feet away. Why had he done that? Was he bloody suicidal? We hardly stood a chance against a monster that could blow up prison walls and disappear in a flash <em>armed<em>, let alone just standing there, surrendering.

"Watson, put your pistol down. Slowly." He whispered. My heart froze even further at the mere thought of disarming myself.

The monster already looked like it could kill both of us in the blink of an eye while we _had _pistols, but unarmed…  
>As much as I trusted Holmes, I seriously doubted that… Toothless, or whatever its name was could stand seeing the two people who were, more or less, directly responsible for its master's near-death.<p>

"Watson… now…" whispered Holmes again. As much as I trusted Holmes's judgement, I couldn't.

I had made up my mind. The monster needed to die. It was him or us.

I took small steps away from Holmes. I knew that as soon as he saw me draw my gun, my friend would try to disarm me, and a delay like that was the last thing that I needed.  
>The dragon kept watching me, growling lowly, but even so, its growl felt like it entered my bowels and turned them into ice. I kept moving until I was about five yards from Holmes.<p>

I couldn't see Haddock or his accomplice, but I could simply _feel _them watching us from the shrubbery. I then moved my hand slowly to the holster within my coat. The dragon growled louder with every inch my hand moved, as if it wanted to say _'disarm yourself, or die'_.

But I had already made up my mind. When my hand was only an inch away from the butt of my gun, the dragon arched its body, narrowed its eyes and let go of a loud, menacing growl, revealing his teeth. I involuntarily took a step backwards and my hand began shaking.

No, not shaking, not now, goddammit…

I took only a moment to stop my hand from shaking. I tried not to listen to the beast's death growl or to look at it straight in the eye as I whipped out my revolver.

"WATSON, DON'T!" yelled Holmes in an uncharacteristically desperate voice.

The beast roared and opened its mouth, ejecting a blue blast. Time itself slowed to a crawl as I pulled the trigger. I knew that this monster was too powerful to be killed by any shot that wasn't aimed directly at its head, and I silently prayed to the Lord that my bullet would hit exactly that.

For a second, I thought I could see the bullet leaving the barrel, leaving behind a miniature explosion, spinning toward the infinitely larger plasma blast. To this day, I don't know if I really did see time slow down, or if it was just my mind playing tricks on me.  
>The next fraction of a second, the bullet and the blast collided. I thought I was done for, that the infinitely more powerful blast of blue would annihilate my bullet and blow me to pieces.<p>

But, the opposite happened. The blast was made of compressed flammable gas, and the bullet ignited it. An explosion was heard and the blast dispersed into a sea of magical blue and orange just yards in front of me.

It blinded and deafened me. I covered my eyes.

Had I done it? Had the bullet reached the beast's skull? In the next moment, my worst fears came to life.

Before my eyes and ears had time to recover, something heavy, powerful, merciless and scaly pounced on me, nearly breaking my bones.

Wait, _scaly_? Oh, God, no…

I felt the beast's cold, sharp claws tightening around my neck, ready to slit it open and feast on the blood at any moment.

I dared to open my eyes. I let go of a yelp of panic as my entire body turned to ice.

The beast was pinning me down, it's huge, merciless eyes staring directly into my soul. I could actually feel its massive body vibrating against my own as it growled.

I had been through terror my entire life. I had held my own against twenty afghan soldiers, hopelessly outnumbered, knowing that if I got caught, I would be hacked to death with machetes.  
>I had dealt with post-traumatic stress and horrifying nightmares after I returned to England after getting shot.<br>I had went after Europe's vilest criminals.  
>I had gone against the hellish hound of the Baskervilles.<br>I had gone against cultist maniacs in the case of The Awakened.

None of these even came close to terrifying me like this dragon pinning me down, its head hung only inches away from my face, its dreadful, toxic eyes looking as if they could pierce my heart, its deadly growls not once stopping. I could feel the monster's fiery breath coming in and out of its slit-like nostrils.

Its teeth… God, its teeth were like awful, foot-long knives and I swear that I could see my faint reflection in them, a terrified, pale man, with wide brown eyes and a frizzled moustache breathing heavily, silently begging for his life to a bloodthirsty dragon.

"WATSON!" Holmes yelled. I heard the rapid shuffling of feet and the cocking of a gun. Though the creature kept me pinned with its mighty claw, I could turn my head slightly.  
>Holmes had scrambled for his gun, and he was now only a couple of yards away, gun in his hand, eyes cold as steel, a slight hint of perspiration coming down his wide forehead.<p>

"Get. Off. Him. Now." Growled Holmes, keeping his revolver pointed at the beast. The midnight-black creature glared at Holmes, and seemed to want to charge him, but then I would have been free to scramble for my own gun. Instead of a response, the dragon looked at me with a predatorial hatred and hunger.

It inched its head closer to me to the point in which his vase-sized eyes and slit-like nostrils were only inches from my face.

"Please, please… Don't… I'm sorry…" I stammered as I felt my entire body shaking. The creature tilted its head toward me even further.

I could now actually smell his last meal. Fish. Soon, I would be joining it.

He then fulfilled my darkest nightmare: he put his fangs on my throat, stopping only short of slitting it open. I yelped in shock as I felt the razor-sharp knife-like fangs creating paper-like cuts on the side of my neck.

"No… no… no…" I whispered.

It wasn't particularly brave of me, I knew, but I couldn't control myself. It took all of my pride and dignity not to break down and beg.

"Come out, Haddock! We came only to speak! Please excuse my friend's rather… instinctual, yet highly idiotic reaction." Said Holmes, taking a second to glare at me. I was now really beginning to regret my attack…

"Just go away." Came the familiar voice of Hector Haddock as he came out of hiding. Despite his nasal, high-pitched voice, it still sounded like an intimidating demand. I cocked my head until I could see him. He was still wearing the same suit as when we had first seen him in the fighter's locker room at the Cane and Mitts club.  
>Despite the fact that the suit was ripped in several places, it was surprisingly clean. But it was clear that he hadn't dunked it in a river, how did he… the dragon shifted its jaw slightly, leaving a trail of hot drool mixed with trickles of my own blood on my neck.<p>

Oh… So _that's _how he was cleaned… I supposed he was rather happy to see his master again, and…

If it hadn't been for the fact that I was in a life or death situation, I'd have chuckled.

"I respect you and Dr. Watson. Please, don't make me do this." He said, putting his hands forward. He glared at me.

"All he needs to do is open his mouth." Said Haddock lowly. The dragon then raised his head slightly and opened its mouth.

A wave of heat struck my face and I saw a blue glow forming at its throat. I then smelled the unmistakable stench of flammable substance. I began breathing heavily, almost screaming in panic, as I realize that he wanted to blast me to pieces…

"And all I need to do is twitch my finger." Said Holmes in his stern, intimidating tone, pointing the gun at the beast's skull.

"You think that one bullet can defeat him?" asked the young man, his own wavering tone being the sign that one bullet was, indeed, all it took.

"I pull this trigger, the bullet shall travel at approximately 189.7 metres per second. At such a velocity, at this close a range, I hardly doubt that he can withstand that. Also, being that this is a Webley Bull-Dog model 1887, chambered for 44 calibre hollow point rounds, one of the most powerful conventional six-shot revolvers in the world, it could blow his head clean off." Said Holmes sternly, yet calmly, his voice not wavering once.

The dragon growled again, baring his teeth at my friend, but even he knew that if he dared to try to blast him, Holmes could pull the trigger faster.  
>Suddenly, I heard something like dried leaves crunching beneath footsteps.<p>

I tried to look to where it came from, but the monster covered my view with his wing and set his talons on my throat tighter. However, I was quickly able to see that a young blonde woman was sneaking up behind Holmes with a battleaxe of sorts.

Judging by the way she was holding it, she knew damn well how to use it, but I realized from its position that she merely wanted to knock out Holmes with the flat of the axe. I wanted to warn Holmes, but I quickly realized that with his keen hearing, he must have realized it before I did.

He probably also deduced _who _was sneaking up on him…

However, while Holmes would be busy incapacitating the girl, the dragon would be free to kill us both. I needed to keep it busy. But how?

Its eyes were very large…

During my time in India, one of my comrades survived a crocodile attack by striking a rock against its eyes and then rushing for his rifle.

But the dragon was looking directly at me, if I tried to claw his eyes out, I would be dead before even he knew it. However, he cocked his head ever so slightly, most likely to watch the girl attack Holmes and to be ready to help her if it was necessary.

Considering that Holmes was arguably the best martial artist and boxer in England, and that he could actually methodically plan a fight ahead of time, not to mention his knowledge of pressure points and experience, it _would _be necessary.  
>I needed something to keep the reptile busy while Holmes was apprehending the girl.<p>

But what? My revolver was ten yards away, no chance I could reach for it. No rocks around me. The ground was…

Wait, the ground… it had rained recently, it was damp, almost muddy… I would be able to dig through it with my fingernails effortlessly…

I knew that the dragon would be able to see me dig, so I slid my hand beneath my waist, shifting my body only a few milimiteres.

The beast wasn't looking directly at me and its grip on my neck had weakened. Good.

I began to tap on the ground to see where it was harder. I had found it. There was a nice, heavy rock a few inches beneath.  
>Slowly, but surely, I plunged my fingers into the moist dirt and began searching.<p>

I heard the faint, stealthy footsteps approaching Holmes. Only a few moments before he was attacked.

_"Come on, come on…" _I said mentally as I kept scouring the ground beneath me. My fingers tirelessly sent aside pebbles and dirt lumps to find my savoir in the form of a rock.

After a few more agonizing, painstaking moments, I felt it. A jagged, rough form.

A sharp, heavy rock.

It took all of my self-control not to sigh in relief. I silently thanked the Lord and I began to try to yank it out slowly, but shifting my body without the beast noticing was tremendously difficult. I just needed a bit more-

"HYAAAAGH!" a feminine, yet amazingly feral war cry brought me out of my thoughts. The girl had attacked Holmes, and Holmes must have already planned the fight so well that he would have her handcuffed without a scratch in mere seconds.  
>Afterwards, the beast would blast him.<p>

Ah, to hell with being quiet! I whipped out the rock beneath me.

The beast's head was already turned toward where the fight must have been. There was no time to waste!

"HRRAAAAGHHH!" I yelled as I slammed the sharp, heavy rock against the beast's skull as hard as I could.

Dammit, must have just _barely_ missed his eye! The beast roared in pain and I noticed a trail of blood forming just behind his eye.  
>Good, he wasn't invincible!<p>

In an instant, with his weakened grip, I crawl away from him, slamming the heel of my boot against his eye for good measure.

I knew that trying to simply stone the beast to death was suicide. I needed my gun. Now.

I ran to my pistol without looking back, throwing the rock backwards as a last means of defence. Let it hit, let it miss, it was the last thing that would slow down this monster.

I dived to my revolver, my hand mercifully wrapping itself around the wooden handle and the trigger from the first attempt, despite the fact that my whole body was shaking.

The blonde-haired girl was incredibly quick and powerful for a woman in combat: despite the fact that Holmes avoided her axe and stomped on it in the next second, effectively disarming her, she fought with her fists with more coordination than I had seen at any bareknuckle boxer.  
>Holmes dodged all of her quick blows and eventually, in a window of opportunity, seized her hand and clicked a handcuff around it.<p>

The blonde roared in anger and tried to punch Holmes with her free hand. Holmes used her own momentum to drag her toward a tree and click the remaining handcuff around the thick branch of a tree. It was over in less than five seconds.

Without waiting anymore, I pointed my revolver at the jet-black dragon, who was still shaking his head to knock himself out of the daze of getting struck by a rock near the eye and a boot square in the eye.

"NO!" I heard two voices yell simultaneously. One was Holmes, the other was…

Just when I pulled the trigger, someone jerked my hand suddenly, causing me to miss wildly.

It was Haddock, trying to disarm me. He was trying to break my wrist by twisting it. Only that he wasn't the first one to try that on me. I knew what to do.

I simply led my arm in the direction he desired and he couldn't do much, and I had the strength advantage, it would be only seconds before the gun was back in my hands.

However, in an instant, he punched my defenceless ribs with all the strength of an experienced boxer, pushing them into my liver. As I grunted in pain and my grip weakened, he pressed the release button for the cylinder, causing all of the four remaining bullets to clatter on the ground.

"STOP! JUST STOP!" yelled Holmes, throwing himself inbetween us. He then shot me a furious glare, the like of which I had never seen my friend look at me with.

"Watson…" he began hissing through gritted teeth.

"Out of all of the idiotic, illogical, moronic, self-centered, gestures that you ever made… This takes the cake!" he said, looking as if he wanted to strike me.

I couldn't respond before I got my breathing back to normal. Everything was now eerily quiet.

I looked in the dragon's direction, just in case he was still thinking about attacking me. Haddock had rushed to his dragon, applying something which looked like a mixture of herbs to the thin gash I had caused.

Toothless whimpered in a way which I didn't think him capable, nuzzling his master with compassion.

"Sorry, bud. Don't worry, the wound is nothing serious…" he whispered soothingly.

Unexpectedly, I felt guilt going through the pit of my stomach and ascending toward my heart. In an instant, I realize my mistake.

Toothless' eyes (I had stopped referring to his as 'beast' or 'monster' in my mind, I realized) expressed joy, sadness, hurt, comfort, fright… he was more than beast.

As Haddock continued treating his wound, the marvellous creature… smiled?

I felt my heart sink. I had struck him.

I had tried to kill him… Without even knowing what he was…

"I'm sorry…" I whisper to no one in particular. No one even reacted to my words.

"Just go away. Please. We'll never return to England ever again. Just let us go…" Said Haddock, scowling at me.

I felt absolutely powerless to do anything. What could I do? What could I say to someone after I tried to _murder_ their best friend? I looked at Holmes with an almost pleading glance. Surely he had something in mind that could fix this? Without another word, Holmes threw his large canvas bag in front of Haddock and the dragon I had misjudged.

"For you." Said Holmes to a dumbstruck Haddock and his dragon. Haddock carefully touched the bag before retracting his hand in the next second. Holmes walked over to him, causing the dragon to growl, but this didn't seem to faze him in the slightest.

"If you fear that this is a bomb, then I am close enough to also be affected by it. Besides, what interest would I have in your death?" said Holmes.

Haddock opened the bag and he gasped. Even Toothless' eyes widened with surprised joy and he smiled once again, a gesture I thought him incapable of.

"My flight gear… Inferno… everything that was taken from me by Scotland Yard… You realized?" asked Haddock, looking up at Holmes.

"I have made a mistake. I only hope that you can one day forgive my actions, as well as Watson's." said Holmes.

Holmes hovered his hand above Toothless' head. The beast growled temporarily, but the young man signalled him to stay calm and Holmes held his hand only inches from his muzzle.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive us." Said Holmes.

"I'll take the case." Said my friend immediately after.

"What case?" asked Haddock.

"Yours." Responded Holmes simply. He then smiled.

"Why didn't you come to me in the first place?" asked Holmes rhetorically.

"Your release papers and Inspector Lestrade's official apology." Said Holmes handing the young man a brown paper envelope before he could respond.

"I am sorry. I… I panicked, I didn't know what I was doing." Said I, finally mustering up the courage to approach Haddock and his remarkable friend. Toothless bared his teeth at me and growled, but Haddock put his hand on his forehead and whispered something in his ears, something along the lines "_Don't judge him, bud, remember how we first met._" But I couldn't be sure.

"I don't know if you can ever forgive me, Toothless. I can only hope that you'll understand that I panicked and instinct acted before reason could stop it." Said I.

Was I talking to a dragon? Well, it clearly understood human speech… was this a dream?

Of course, bloody late-night paperwork; I would wake up face-down in a pile of papers from my clinic: again.

However, Toothless' gaze softened and, for reasons I couldn't explain, I felt my heart melt.

_He forgave me…_ Just like his gaze went straight into my soul when he was frightening me, it was now going straight into my soul when he wanted to tell me "_don't worry. It's alright. You didn't mean it._" A loud, demanding, feminine cough brought us all out of our thoughts.

It was Astrid, who was still handcuffed to the tree.

"Oh, right… just a minute…" said Holmes as he went over to the young woman and unlocked her bindings. She tried to slap him as he did this, but Haddock stopped her.

_**Haddock's POV:**_"He was just trying to help. Don't judge any of them, Astrid. You saw how desperate Holmes was when Watson drew his revolver, he panicked." Said I, preventing my wife from giving the detective a good knock on his sharp cheekbones.

I still couldn't believe that Sherlock Holmes went from trying to apprehend me (as he had every right in the world to do) to returning my gear. Did he realize where I came from? What I stood for? Why I did what I did?

"How can we trust them? He tried to kill Toothless!" yelled Astrid.

"Astrid, if they really had wanted to take us down once and for all, they'd have brought half of Scotland Yard with them. Watson only panicked. And doesn't the fact that he returned my gear prove anything to you?" I say, putting both of my hands on her shoulders. Though she still seemed a little sceptical, I knew that this logic must have convinced her.

"Let's just get out of here, Hiccup. Please. You say that he's on our side now, but I say better be safe than sorry." Said Astrid.

"I am afraid that you will need me if you are to defeat a man like Drago Bludvist." Said Holmes. My heart froze and for a minute I couldn't say anything. Astrid beat me to asking, since I was too stupefied to even move.

"Drago Bludvist? You knew about him? How?" asked Astrid.

"I found these documents in the house of Maul, alias Adam Mortimer." Said Holmes pulling out a bundle of papers from his overcoat. Some were papers that were undoubtedly from London, given their cream-like colour and smoothness, others were… from the Archipelago.

Definitely. Maps, plans, letters from Drago to and from acolytes…

"But I looked throughout his house, and there was nothing." Said I.

"You merely didn't look hard enough. A secret basement revealed by pressing a button hidden on a candlestick, nothing special." Said Holmes.

"I told you that you didn't look hard enough, Hiccup!" said Astrid, once again frustrated at my fruitless search of Maul's home.

I wince as she mentioned my true name. Here we go again…

However, the two gentlemen didn't start laughing hysterically as I had half expected, though the doctor did crack a smile, accentuated by his moustache.

"-Drago Bludvist in fact tried to hire my services.

-He did?" I ask bewildered.

"Yes." Said Holmes. Though his tone of voice was as deliberate as ever, I could sense an undertone of disgust in it. Before I could press further, he unbuttoned his collar.

I all but gasped in shock as I looked at his now bare neck. Along it was a red mark.

Though it looked almost as if he had been strangled with a thick bludgeon , I knew better…

"You obviously refused." I say, trying my best to sound calm, though that was rather impossible to do while I was imagining Drago strangling Holmes after being told off by the detective.

"Luckily, as a doctor, Watson knows the exact location of the femoral nerve in the back of the knee, and after putting him down with a well-placed strike of his stick there, two loaded revolvers convinced that beast to leave." Said Holmes.

I smiled at the doctor. Putting down a seven-foot tall, 400-pound insane warlord with just one blow was no easy task.

"And as for your release, don't worry, I made sure that Inspector Lestrade won't be making any further inquiries in this case." Said Holmes.

"How so?" I asked.

I then realized it: with my name cleared, the case was reopened, there was no culprit.  
>And while Inspector Lestrade certainly lacked certain deductive abilities, he was no fool, there was the danger that he would eventually reach the conclusion that I was indeed the murderer.<p>

I winced with disgust at my own actions as the word "murderer" passed through my mind…

"I presented the good Inspector false evidence that the real murderer was Thomas Ape, a psychopath in every single sense of the word. That lunatic will finally get what's coming to him." Said Holmes.

I felt my heart sinking into my stomach. Not only had I murdered someone, but now, someone else will be punished because of it.

What had I become? It took all of my self-control not to break down and beg Holmes to clear that innocent man's name.

"Like I've said, he's a psychopath, just last year he killed his wife in a fit of rage but was never tried due to lack of evidence. Just until a few hours ago he was a brutal thug-for-hire who wouldn't even back down from killing. He has finally received justice." Said Holmes.

I then realized that he must have deduced just how horrible I felt about this man getting hanged in my place. That's why he said what he said right now.

"I am so sorry." I heard someone say. It was Watson, carefully approaching Toothless and Astrid. Astrid was continuing to treat Toothless with the herbal mixture.  
>I could see that the doctor was still scared, but his guilt and desire to be accepted by most likely the most incredible thing he had ever seen must have defeated that. Though Astrid looked ready to punch Watson down, my glare calmed her down.<p>

We were friends now, or at least not ready to blow each other's heads off and were willing to work together to defeat Drago.

"No, not like that, rub it slower." Said Watson to Astrid as he showed her how to treat the gash.

"Let me." He said taking some cotton and antiseptic from his medical bag. Slowly, but surely, my wife and best friend accepted him.

Toothless licked him, to which he cried in surprise and muttered something about ruining his favourite waistcoat, but his laughter showed me what I already knew: with just a slight nudge in the right direction, dragons could become the most amazing companions for mankind anywhere; even if they were ready to kill each other mere minutes ago. This was how easy and how magical it was to earn a dragon's loyalty, and this was just how forgiving dragons could be.

Holmes gave a small chuckle as he watched his friend drenched by a playful and forgiving Toothless.

"Now, you should tell me everything, young man, and worry not: after we saw your remarkable friend, there is no part of your story we won't believe simply because it falls outside the pattern of what we accept as rational thought." Said Holmes as he gently scratched Toothless under the chin, encouraging Watson to do the same.  
>I could still see guilt in the doctor's eyes, even after I told him that Night Furies had incredibly fast healing and that the small gash would be invisible within twelve hours. He would stop feeling guilty the moment he found out just how I met Toothless, I was sure of that, or at least I hoped so. We all went back around the campfire, which had extinguished itself by now. Holmes took out his matches, but I stopped him.<p>

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Holmes." I say smiling and then nodding to my dragon. Toothless gave a mischievous gummy smile and spat a small amount of plasma onto the logs, causing a superb fire instantly.

Watson flinched ever so slightly, but the kind gaze my dragon gaze him calmed him significantly, even making him so confident that he stood practically next to Toothless.

"I shall start from the beginning, since it's rather impossible to talk about Drago and who he is without doing so.  
>You see, gentlemen, I come from a hidden Archipelago, the Sea of Norway is far larger and stretches deeper than maps or globes show it to. I suppose that your explorers have decided years ago to not go into that hidden Archipelago due to the… oddities there.<br>As you may have realized, there are dragons like Toothless there. Bonding with them is something beyond magical, nothing can match it. Once you earn a dragon's loyalty, there is _nothing _he won't do for you. Berk, my village, has been at peace with them for about six years now, thanks to me." I then sighed as I felt a familiar hand pulling on my heart with guilt. I knew that if I hadn't shot him down, we'd have never made peace in the first place, but that didn't change the fact that I took the freedom of flight away from him…

"But it wasn't always like this… see that?" I ask, pointing at Toothless' red tailfin.

"You did that." Said Holmes simply as he lit a cigarette. It was a statement, not a question.

"How'd you guess?" asked Astrid.

"Miss Haddock… I never guess." Said Holmes as he blew smoke above his head. I then decided it was safe to tell them everything.

About Berk's history with dragons, how I shot down Toothless and then befriended him and changed Berk for the better, our fight with the Red Death, the feud with Dagur, all leading up to the battle with Drago.

Holmes had a look of absolute concentration as I said all this, but even so, his stone cold mask of stoicism turned into wide eyes and raised eyebrows as I explained the Red Death and The Bewilderbeast. Watson would cry out "That's impossible!" but then Holmes would say "My dear chap, if that weren't true, would you be covered in dragon drool right now?"

Though I wasn't sure, I could have sworn that I saw Watson a couple of times pinching himself as if to assure himself that this was not a dream.  
>I couldn't blame him.<p>

I didn't tell him how my father died, or that my mother had been with dragons for twenty years, because I was afraid that then, not understanding the circumstances, they'd think of Toothless as a murderer or of my mother as a runaway slut who chose dragons over family.

"And months ago I found out that Drago was alive this _whole time_ and that he was in London. So, me and my wife took the long flight to this very forest, Astrid flew Toothless back after we bought "normal" clothes and walked the city a while, since I decided it was safest I did this alone, I got into underground fight clubs to earn money, and… the rest you know." I say, the afternoon turning into early evening as I finished my long story.

"Indeed." Said Holmes, offering me another cigarette, which I refused, as my throat was already killing me from nearly dying hanged. "But have you told me everything?" asked Holmes.

"Y-yes, Holmes." I say stuttering slightly. Gods, why was I such a lousy liar?

"You have not." Said Holmes, his expression suddenly becoming frowned and stern.

"How did your father die?" he asked. Toothless let go of a yelp of shock and immediately turned away from us, his head bowed in shame.

How could Holmes have-

"-When me and Watson first met you, he made a remark that we had such similar appearances that we could pass off as father and son. Yet, this perfectly innocent remark upset you greatly. The only logical reason is if your father had died relatively recently, most likely, during the battle with Drago.

-Ah, yes, yes! Sure, when we first met…" I say awkwardly, futilely trying to change the subject. Holmes leaned forward, his brow coming together even more.

"I. Ask. Again. How did your father meet his unfortunate end during the battle with Drago?" asked Holmes again.

At this point, Toothless had simply hidden behind a bush and some fallen logs, curling up within himself as much as possible, low, heart-wrenching coos and yelps of guilt erupting from his throat.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Watson. My mind raced for a plausible explanation to the doctor's and Holmes's dreadful question. What could I say?

Would they understand?

They had just barely befriended my dragon, I couldn't have them know of that.

It was a question impossible to answer.


	11. Chapter 11- The Departure

**Holmes:**Of course, I had deduced that the death of Haddock's father was something which Haddock was trying to conceal; the fact that his father had died recently and that he was mourning him was obvious from his behavior in the locker room.

But, the young couple and their… pet seemed very disturbed by my completely justified inquiry. However, Toothless seemed to be much more disturbed than anyone else at this question.  
>I would definitely be writing a monograph for myself on these creatures, they are undoubtedly the second most intelligent beings on Earth, right behind Homo Sapiens.<br>Haddock was trying to form words, as he kept on looking at his winged companion with guilt. But Toothless did seem to have a behavior which was beyond simple sorrow. Again, remarkable creatures, capable of human emotion and expression.

Recognizing important evidence based on facial expressions and body language was one of the abilities which I have gained from decades as a consulting detective. The look on the poor being was more than just mourning. It was a deep feeling of guilt. Why would he feel guilt? With my abilities of deduction it couldn't have taken more than just a few seconds for me to put two and two together.

Haddock had told me in his overly-extensive summary of his life in the past five years that The Alpha had mind-controlling abilities. And since Bludvist's biggest enemy must have been Haddock's father, and he had a wish to break up the relationships between his enemies, he must have wished to complete these two 'goals' at the same time.  
>What better way to break up an alliance than to have someone kill his own ally in front of his family? My heart sank as I figured all this out, and I am only very rarely moved, my heart is mainly governed by my brain.<br>Haddock tried to speak.

"I'm sorry, Toothless, don't worry, he'll understand." His draconic companion looked at him with huge, begging eyes while he cooed with pleading moans.

"Tut, tut, Haddock. There's no need to tell me. I have deduced it." Haddock, Astrid and Toothless all gasped in astonishment and concern, especially Toothless, who had now just buried his head in the ground, covering his ears and eyes with his paws.  
>Watson had once described me as a calculating machine, as someone who if he has emotions, then he very rarely shows them. But I couldn't help but feel sorrow as I watched the poor beast. Haddock quickly went to his friend and hugged his enormous head with his arms.<p>

"-It wasn't your fault bud, it wasn't your fault. That's it, that's it, don't worry I'm sure that if he had realized that, he also realized it wasn't really you.

-You are correct, Haddock. I'm sorry, Toothless. No one should ever have to go through that.

-Go through what, Holmes?" asked Watson.

"Use my methods, my dear Watson." Watson looked at the three of them and after a while he gasped as he realized everything and then shook his head in disbelief.

"-Poor, poor beast. It wasn't him. To have to go through such a thing… to carry such a memory…

-That's not all, Doctor Watson" Haddock cut in.

"The thing is, he couldn't actually remember what he did. At least not immediatly after he was out of The Alpha's influence. A few weeks after the battle, or the war, whatever you want to call it, Toothless had a nightmare in which he remembered everything, wha-what he did while he was being controlled. And… then he… tried to…"  
>I instantly deduced what he was about to say.<p>

"No need to tell me, young man." I threw my half-smoked cigarette into the bonfire and rushed to Toothless's side, who was at this point positively weeping in shame. There were no tears, but he needn't shed any. I jerked his head upwards with both of my hands and looked him in the eye with the angriest look I could muster.

I then said "You have no right to blame yourself, and you certainly have no right to take your own life! Did you even think of what your friend's life, what everyone's life would have become!?"

The remarkable beast looked downwards in complete shame. I really am not an emotional man, but I couldn't help but feel ashamed myself at my outburst. Haddock rushed to his companion's side and once again took his head in a tight embrace. After a while, Toothless responded with a tiny lick to his chin.

"It's alright, bud. That's it, that's it. Never try that again. It wasn't you." I was quite taken aback. Toothless had already proven himself to have more emotions and feelings than most people that I have met. Haddock eventually started taking again.

"-If it hadn't been for Cloudjumper, Toothless really would have jumped off that cliff, as you have observed, he is unable to fly on his own.

-Cloudjumper? Another dragon?

-Yes." And as he said this I could see that he was somehow trying to once again avoid the subject.

"-He and Toothless are close?

-Very. Since Toothless became the new Alpha, he had been his right hand man- erm dragon, I mean. But, Holmes, what about my escape?

-What about it?

-If, I mean, when I come back to London, people will ask questions about how I had managed to pull off such a feat.

-No, they won't. Lestrade and the prison director were so concerned about the scandal that would arise should the public know about the fact that one of the country's prisons is vulnerable in such a manner, then the prison would undoubtedly be demolished, so that they paid a considerable sum of money, to which I have had a modest contribution, to all of the London newspapers to not write about this incident.

-I cannot thank you enough, Holmes.

-You needn't. It was I who put you into this mess in the first place.

-No, you just did your job. I was… am a murderer.

-Nonsense. It was self-defense. Not to mention what atrocities he might have committed had you not stopped him. But, pray, tell me, if you are now the chief, why on earth did you go on a field mission?

-Because we wished to turn him our cause, not kill him. I am the best speaker around there, and I thought that if I could have changed Eret's mind, I could change his too. I guess I was wrong…

-Why did you become an amateur fighter?

-I needed to pay my debts somehow, right? And since any other well-paying job was too time consuming in order for me to focus on unraveling Drago's operations in Europe and London, I became a fighter. First as a simple back-street brawler, but because I'm a very good fighter, a talent discovered only three years ago, I was soon remarked by the owner of the remarkable "Cane and Mitts"public house, and he offered me a luxurious room and twenty pounds per fight, more if I won, which was always.  
>Since I had a gentleman's income, I proceeded to have a gentleman's habits: I started buying expensive clothes, my favorite ones being the ones which I'm wearing right now, I smoked expensive cigars, frequented gentleman's clubs and eventually fell quite in love with London. And now that I am a free man, I will be able to visit her again, although I'm sure it will still be business that will bring me here again.<p>

-Indeed, I should think so.

-Holmes!" Astrid shouted towards me.

"Can you come over here, please?" I went towards her, still unsure as to what her intentions were.

"What is it Mi- ?" Before I could finish, she launched a brutal right cross which hit my jaw with such force that it knocked off my deerstalker and almost floored me. Her hand was stronger than that of the toughest street ruffian in London, I thought as I grunted in pain.

"Astrid!" Haddock scolded as I could hear everyone rushing to my side.

"That's for beating up and arresting my husband!" I heard her yell. Before I could respond I felt her helping me up, dusting my clothes and then gently handing me my deerstalker.

"That's for everything else." She said softly.

"Holmes, sit down! Haddock, throw me my doctor's bag!" Watson yelled. I started laughing, which made my jaw hurt even more.  
>Oh… I may be able to understand the greatest mysteries of the world, I may be able to untangle even the stealthiest of crimes, but I'll never understand women. From her punch I quickly deduced that she is well trained in martial arts, as well as a lot physically stronger than most ladies.<br>Watson quickly applied a salve-drenched compress to my cheek. He stared coldly at Astrid.

"-Watson, stop looking at her like that, I deserved it. I took worse punches, don't worry.

-Yes, but you really shouldn't have punched him! After all that he's done for you three! He even went as far as risking his skin to ask Lestrade to bury this case! Holmes could have been arrested for being an accomplice!"

I could see that Astrid was quite ashamed of herself now.

"That's alright, Miss. I deserved it." I said grinning painfully because of my jaw.

**"-**I-I'm sorry, it's…

-I observe you are also in the habit of punching your husband? You three really are a childish lot…

-H-how do you know?

-Although not visible from afar, his shoulder is somewhat swollen, I know a swell from a punch when I see one. Since he never got out of his cell while he was locked up, there was no way that he was involved in a jail-yard fight. Also, Haddock, I hate to bring up the subject again…"

I stopped for a minute, somewhat concerned for Toothless's mental state should I bring it up again. But eventually I keep on talking

"-Your father was quite a large man, wasn't he?

-Yes, he was, how did you…?

-The veins around your wrists are quite prominent, a feature received only from strong first-grade relatives. Your smaller size is owed most likely to a premature birth.

-He wasn't just the strongest man I ever knew, but also the wisest." I could see his eyes darting towards Toothless to see if he was once again prone to depression, but Toothless was too busy receiving pats from Watson. I chuckle as I watch that, as does Haddock.

"-It's quite dark now, Holmes, I think the three of us should leave.

-Indeed, it is dark enough for him to camouflage in the sky. But next time you come here, paint his tailfin black. One of the watchtower guards said that they had seen something which looked like a red scarf flapping in the sky, and I have little doubt that had he not been at that point desperate to reach the execution chamber faster, he would have looked in that direction and saw… more. Write to me once you reach home, tell me of anything which had changed there, tell me of those close to you, anything suspicious, and in the case of something truly important I shall not hesitate to find a way to get to Berk myself, although you will have to arrange… transport. The address is 221b Baker Street.

-How will I send the letters?

-The same way in which Maul, or Adam, sent and received his own letters with Drago Bludvist. Via a smaller dragon, I presume. And since I observe that dragons are highly intelligent, I think it will have little trouble finding us. And as long as you tell it- sorry, him to give the letters in darkness, by my window, no one will see him, trust me.

-Before we leave, Holmes, tell me, how was it?" he asked with a grin that stretched to his ears.

"-How was what?

-You know what I'm talking about, Holmes. The little 'snack' which Toothless left by the river." Gritting my teeth, I was feeling pretty embarrassed by this situation. I force a smile and say "Surprisingly alright."

Haddock and Astrid packed up their large knapsack into a bag attached to Toothless' saddle, and Haddock put on his flight gear, as he called it. After exchanging goodbyes and Astrid apologized once again, they took off. Even after seeing such a remarkable creature, watching them flying off like that was quite a shock. Watson and I just stood frozen for about a minute until I broke the silence.

"-Back to Baker Street, Watson.

-H-Holmes! That was… out of this world! To think that things like this exist!

-There was nothing paranormal, my dear fellow. The dragon's flight, even his fire-breathing can be explained scientifically.

-And the fact that he could understand our language and even had genuine emotions?

-They are just simply intelligent. Tomorrow morning I shall send my Irregulars to collect information about Drago, or Daniel. If he still is in London, we may be able to get him. And I shall be awaiting for Haddock's letter, which will arrive in five days according to my calculations. Now, Watson, we should get to Baker Street in time for supper. I certainly hope that Mrs. Hudson didn't cook fish…" I cringe at the idea. If we had fish for supper, I would certainly be eating at a hotel...

_Sorry, this wasn't really as good as the others.  
>And, yes, Holmes is more emotional than usual in this one.<em>

_"-How was it?  
>-Surprisingly alright." a reference to the "Sherlock" BBC Series.<br>And yes, Holmes just got smacked by Astrid XD_


	12. Chapter 12- First Preparations

_**Watson**_**: **To Sherlock's relief, it was tomato soup with crumpets, not fish that Mrs. Hudson had prepared for supper.

At the sight of Holmes's bruise, Mrs. Hudson let out a muffled scream and quickly told me to lay him on the couch. She always overreacted whenever my friend would get hurt in the slightest (which was often).  
>During supper, I was trying to talk to Holmes, about this entire ordeal. I couldn't have even suspected that such things even existed! But then again, I thought the same about… brr… "The Awakened".<p>

"-Well, Holmes, what do you think?

-These are very deep waters, my dear Watson. Right now, all I can do is wait for morning, send my Irregulars to search for men fitting the description of Drago Bludvist, and then possibly go in an 'expedition' in some of the less savory parts of London, incognito. But for tonight, I shall begin writing my monograph on these remarkable creatures. I expect that it will be one of the thickest of my monographs, right alongside '191 different types of tobacco ash' or '205 different types of finger and hand calluses'. For now, I don't have much to go on, but it will be more than enough to fill one night.

-Phew…, Holmes, that really was the most amazing thing I have ever been through.

-Indeed, my friend, who would have thought that from an ordinary backstreet murder case we'd be thrust into this? I also saw that you became quite attached to Haddock's dragon." He said chuckling.

"-What will we do now?

-Like I said, we can do little until Haddock sends us the first letter. But if fortune is on our side, we will be able to snatch some information about Drago's plans, maybe even put a dent in them.

-Or maybe even capture him, if he's still in London?"

Holmes shook his head.

"-He's not stupid, Watson, he won't let himself get caught. But, if he's established some sort of underground network in London, then we might be able to stop whatever plans he has here. But even then, we'd only scratch the surface. Still, … I think it would be a good idea to study the events that took place since Drago arrived in London, one month ago.  
>There must be a good reason for his presence here. I shall spend this night studying the newspapers from the past month, there must be a discrepancy, <em>something<em> which Bludvist has done which the newspapers have documented one way or another. Remember, while I was on Moriarty's trail, even the slightest burglary or the most ordinary of crimes had the possibility of having the mastermind behind it.

-And then?

-We shall require Haddock's assistance. Drago has without a doubt left, or if not, will leave London. The murder of his most trusted acolyte must have worried him.

-You mean that we will have to go to Be-

-I cannot say for sure, Watson, but here's some advice. Tomorrow on your way from your private clinic, buy two thick winter coats, get them pressed; we're going to need them."

That night I could not sleep. Not because I considered what we went through that night to be terrifying, but more the opposite. I had never encountered a creature as remarkable as Toothless.

It…he had genuine feelings. When I saw how sorrowful he was while being reminded of a death which wasn't even his own fault, he felt so guilty, so ashamed that he wouldn't even make eye contact.  
>What he went through… He quickly went from not even trusting me with a gun in my pocket to actually greeting me as a friend. He really was as playful as a newborn pup.<br>Which reminded me, it would take weeks to wash the drool out from his playful licks (Haddock told me that it was almost impossible to get the smell of fish out).

And I've never actually seen Holmes so touched about a tragedy which affected other people.  
>He said himself on multiple occasions that his heart was governed by his brain.<br>The look in my friend's eyes as Toothless sobbed in his own way was one which I have only very seldom seen in my normally stone-cold companion.

Sorrow. Empathy.

I could occasionally hear the faint crackle of newspapers or the sound of chemicals being boiled that night. Holmes was in a very deep study of this matter.  
>He was normally in a case only for the sake of mental gymnastics. But I confess that I've never seen him so moved, and I was convinced that his desire to help Haddock was owed to more than just 'art for the sake of art'.<p>

I will not bore my readers further by describing my full train of events that night. Bottom line is, that I only managed to fall asleep at the first crack of dawn, even though I had gotten in bed at about nine in the evening.

I tried reading a few crime novels which I had bought just the other day, but their plot was so dull compared to what we had gone through, and what we would be going through in the near future, that I put the books away and let myself grasped by melancholy and empty thoughts.

When I woke up from my short, dreamless sleep, at an ungodly hour, too, I decided to write a few words about this affair, even though I knew I'd never publish it, for people would laugh at me. I got out of my room and found Holmes still clipping newspapers, and sifting through his archive. The room was dense with tobacco smoke.  
>There were some newspaper clippings glued to a noticeboard on a wall, and red string was connecting them with either other clippings or some photographs of criminals taken at Scotland Yard.<br>On the edge of the new noticeboard sat other clippings and photographs of men I didn't recognize, just waiting to be placed into Holmes's web of deduction in the inner noticeboard, like soldiers waiting to be placed in their general's master plan.

"Watson, you're awake! Pray, call Wiggins upstairs. He's always under our window at this hour."

I knew better than to ask him to do this task himself. I called the self-proclaimed chief of the "Secret Police of Baker Street" upstairs. The boy hesitated at first, hearing not the familiar voice of my friend, but my own, but instantly sprung in as soon as he saw that it was me. The door flew open mere seconds after me calling and Wiggins went into the sitting room, as filthy and as unkempt as ever, followed by a very red-faced Mrs. Hudson who looked angrily when at the mud traces left by Wiggins' shoes, when at Sherlock, when at Wiggins himself.  
>Before Mrs. Hudson could say something, Wiggins said eagerly:<p>

"-At yo service, Mr 'olmes!

- Ah, my young friend. I need you to find several people for me. I should warn you that they are very dangerous men, particularly the big one.

-No problem, chief! The lads have all got bigger brothers, who will help us for sure! Especially me brother, since you saved 'im from th' noose!

-Excellent! But, you must be discreet! These people are: Bruce Bentcliffe, a well known ruffian for hire; Samuel Crooke, one of the most dangerous cutthroats in Whitechapel; Gino Garcia, a forger and blackmailer and last, but definitely not least, a man whose very name shows his vile tendencies. Drago Bludvist, one of his aliases being Daniel Marker, the worst man that you could imagine. Here are pictures of these men, except for Drago, but there's no mistaking his appearance: He is unusually tall and muscular, even though he's a hunchback, his face is covered in scars of all shapes and sizes, particularly one which goes across his eye, his left arm is missing completely, although he will be trying to conceal it, and he has a very dark complexion, even though he's European. There will be half a guinea for each man found, and if you can tell me where Bludvist is, five guineas."

The boy's eyes widened and his mouth went half agape.

"Blimey! Mr. 'olmes! Five whole guineas! Don't worry Mr. 'olmes, I'll find those…"

The boy then let loose a string of curses which would have put a drunken sailor to shame. He then stopped and looked insistently at Sherlock.

"-What is it, Wiggins?

-Who punched you in the face, guv?

-That's enough, Wiggins! Now hop to the job I gave you!" said Holmes on a rather irritated tone, and I could see him blushing slightly. Wiggins ran out while Mrs. Hudson held her broom in a white knuckled grip, just short of hitting the boy. After our breakfast I went to my private clinic while Holmes went back to his 'web'.

When I returned, I did as Holmes asked and bought two thick winter equipment sets from a traveler's shop. I had found Holmes in exactly the same position as I had left him that morning, the only difference in the room now being that the smoke was thicker and the smell was simply choking.

I enjoyed a bit of good tobacco as much as any man, but this was just too much! I opened the window to let the smoke out, rang for a cup of tea and then tried to talk to Holmes.

"-I really hope those children don't get in trouble with those brutes.

-Don't worry, Watson, I'm expecting answers in about… seven seconds."

Before I could ask the meaning of this statement, Wiggins rushed into the room, just short of colliding with Mrs. Hudson who was bringing in the tea.

"-Mr. 'olmes! We've found 'em!

-Well done, Wiggins!

-Bruce Bentcliffe rents out a small dump of a room on Downing Street, but spends all his time at the 'Punch Bowl' pub, a real dump that one, where he does arm-wrestles and bare-knuckle fights for money. But he's also receiving jobs. If one month ago he rarely left that rat-hole of a pub, he now occasionally hops into a real fancy black hansom. We ain't never been able to see where he goes after that.

Samuel Crooke was a bit tougher to find. But we've found him at the docks. He seems to be waitin' for somethin', cause he barely gets out of his room at the 'Drunken Mermaid' pub and he's sometimes lookin' at the registers of ships that are to come. And just like Bentcliffe, he sometimes hops into the same black hansom and goes missing the whole night.

As for the Italian fella, Garcia, he's still staying at his 'office' at Buck's Row, receiving packages from a shabby looking man, but we couldn't see his face, cause it was all covered up with a black scarf. He was tallish. Not as tall as you, Mr. 'olmes, but a bit taller than Dr. Watson.  
>This scarf-wearing fella leaves the package on the doorstep, but we couldn't see what was in it, cause Garcia took it the second the man left.<p>

We tried to find out what we could about that Drago fellow. We didn't turn up with much. Some of the lads who sleep around the Thames say that they saw a man like that buying a small yacht and then leaving with only a couple of hired toffs two days ago.

-Dammit! He's slipped past us! But still, he's established contacts here. Maybe even some sort of network. And I now know where his acolytes are staying.

-I'm sorry I couldn't find the big one, Mr. 'olmes."

Said Wiggins sadly, more at the thought of losing five guineas than that of missing the man.

"-Don't worry, Wiggins, you did find him. Here's your reward in full.

-God bless you, Mr. 'olmes! Me an' the lads are eating steak tonight!" After Wiggins left, Holmes went into his room.

He had stayed in his room for quite a long time. After about three hours out of his room came a fierce looking man, with a tattered cap, his face dirty from labor and fingernails chipped. I quickly grabbed my revolver and pointed it at him.  
>What had this brute done to Holmes?<br>A million possible scenarios, one more grotesque than the other raced in my head. Had that bloody savage found out about us helping Haddock and sent an assassin? Was my friend lying dead in his bed at the hand of this assassin? That thought made me sick to my stomach.

"Hold it right there, scum. Who are you and what have you done to Sherlock Holmes?" Words cannot describe the relief I felt as the man spoke in an all too familiar voice.

"-Calm down, Watson. Deep breaths. Sit down. It's me.

-Whew, what a relief! I can never get used to your disguises, Holmes!

-Thank you, Watson for your feedback! This means that I am ready to go on my 'expedition' around London!" With those words said, he went out and hailed a cab.

I will never be able to see through my friend's disguises...

Even though Sherlock was going through unsavory parts of London at all times, I confess that I had never been more worried for his person. 

* * *

><p><em>Ha! Bet you're glad I didn't kill Holmes! XD<em>

_The Baker Street Irregulars: These little guys are Sherlock's secret police. You can get more useful information from a street urchin than from a dozen Yard constables._

_And, yes, Holmes will be using his disguises extensively._


	13. Chapter 13- Sherlock's 'Expedition'

**Holmes:** I first went at Bruce Bentcliffe's location.  
>I've had some 'business' with him before, and he even used to be a low level member of Moriarty's gang, but was never accused due to lack of evidence. Even though I have encountered Bruce before, he wouldn't recognize me. My disguise was good enough to fool Watson, who sees me every day, not to mention that Bentcliffe never was the sharpest tool in the shed.<p>

The plan was to get Bentcliffe to tell me something about Drago's plans and his part in it. Considering that he is not very smart, nor very loyal, it was unlikely that it would be very challenging. I got out of the cab and paid the coachman. I first went to his apartment on Downing Street. Since he spent all his time either at the Punch Bowl or 'working', then he wouldn't be home at that hour.  
>Upon seeing his door I realized that he was worried about something. He had caught a small piece of paper in between the door and the frame, so that if someone opened the door while he was out, he would see it.<p>

I take out one of my lockpicks and insert it into the door. Hmm… he changed the ordinary lock with a complicated German lock. Still, it was fairly simple to pick, because when you put a complex lock on a simple door, it affects it's usefulness. The small room reeked of tobacco and cheap alcohol. Dust was literaly hanging in the air and food, plates, blankets and a mattress were scattered untidily all over this rat-hole.

Since he isn't too bright, he must have hidden whatever he has to hide in a relatively simple place, almost certainly his home. In case he had to run away from his home, he would want to be able to quickly grab his secret and run; therefore it is an easy to reach place. Not inside a safe: safes are expensive and take time to open. Of course! The floorboards! I carefully step all over the small room until I hear a hollow spot.

I take out my pocketknife and use it as a prop to take out the floorboards. At first glance there is nothing hidden but opium balls. He was known to be an opium addict. No, this cannot be it. There is more that he wanted to hide than his drug stash. I take out the bowl of opium and set it aside. There is nothing else. I groan in frustration.  
>There is no way I can completely search his dump; he would then realize that he has been discovered, and then the game was up. But then I notice something: as a man with some modest knowledge of botany, I notice that some of the balls did not seem natural. I take them out. I pry them open with my fingernails and presto!<p>

Papers crumpled up inside the balls! I straighten them out and look on them. They are about some extortion jobs… They are telling Bruce to extort a pawnbroker, a journalist and even a coachman. Aha… to hire them! And if they refuse, coerce and intimidate them into agreeing to help…  
>The coachman job is crossed off the list, therefore the coachman has agreed to help Drago… maybe the mysterious black hansom is being driven by this coachman.<p>

Sebastian White is the name of the coachman. I get out of his apartment, pleased at having found out all of this. I carefully slip the small piece of paper back in between the door and the frame and after making sure that there was nothing that would have made him think that his house had been looted, I go to the Punch Bowl. The pub was quite close to his home. I look into my reflection in a water poodle. I definitely didn't look like myself.

The thick black beard, the shabby cap, the cheap old clothes and the fake shoulders made me look more like a street ruffian than a gentleman. And Bruce would, hopefully, not recognize me. I enter the filthy pub, where the excited yells, talentless bards singing lively music and sound of blows could only mean one thing: a fight.  
>I ignore the two large goons fighting in the middle, as I notice Bentcliffe sitting at his usual table, waiting for an arm-wrestling challenge. Bentcliffe was a man in his thirties, yet his ugly, gorilla-like traits made him look no less than forty.<p>

He was wearing new, but very cheap clothes, already slightly stained from the London mud. Before talking to him, I deduce what I can: He's still a heavy smoker, still a heavy drinker, still smokes opium. The mud on his shoes suggest that he hasn't went outside of Whitechapel for some time. He's had his nose broken twice and one of his eyes is swollen, therefore he has been in at least two particularly vicious fights this week. He now had a watch, stolen undoubtedly, since it had it's chain ripped.

I sit down at his table and I ask rudely with a thick Scottish accent:

"-Hullo, there! Arr ya Bruce?

-Who's askin'?

-I heard all 'bout the arm-wrestlin' here. You look like the strong sort, and I'm up for it."

He couldn't help but crack a smile as he saw my size; although I was wearing shoulder pads, and I was a whole two inches taller, he still looked much stronger.

"-Alright, then, if you want to lose your money, that's fine with me. I start at ten shillings.

-Suits me."

Some people were already gathered around us and instantly bet on Bruce; he was very seldom defeated in strength tests. Although I am myself much stronger than I seem, I wouldn't have stood a chance in arm-wrestling against a beast like Bruce.  
>However, arm-wrestling is much more than a battle of raw strength.<p>

During my studies of Baritsu, I also learned multiple grappling, and restraining techniques, which allowed me to hold my hand perfectly stiff. I clasp my hand on Bruce's oversized palm and I instantly concentrate to stiffen it. He tries for several seconds to put me down in just one strong push, but he wasn't able to move my hand more than a few inches.  
>I instantly calculate when he ran out of stamina, and I then push his now limp hand. Although he ran out of breath, his herculean strength made him resist it. While he certainly had the strength advantage he knew nothing of techniques like twists and hand positioning. After some more struggle, he eventually succumbs, and my hand slams his own against the table.<br>Some people gasped in both shock and anger. They had all bet on Bentcliffe, and now he lost. He looks at me with narrow eyes, a look that could intimidate even the strongest of men, something which made him very successful as a street ruffian.

"-You were lucky! I wasn't focused! You cheated!

-Bollocks! Hand over me ten shillings!

-Tell ya what! The fight between Dredger and Foley is over. Whaddya say we do some fisticuffs? Double or quits.

-Fine by me."

This would prove to be even easier than the arm-wrestling. My vast knowledge of boxing, baritsu, mixed martial arts, not to mention that the power of deduction is useful even in combat. I remembered that I needn't rough him up too much; I needed to get information out of him.

We remove our coats and hand them to the small, ever-smiling barman who called the customers to place bets on us. This time, some did bet on me as they had seen me putting him down in arm-wrestling. We both go to the centre, and he assumes a combat position, not at all proper, as it was imbalanced and he held both his hands upwards, leaving his chest completely exposed.

_Plan of attack: One: Incoming assault; experienced, powerful, but uncalculated, use his momentum to counter.  
>Two: He's a heavy drinker, attack liver.<br>Three: Slap ears to discombobulate.  
>Four: Knock him down with right haymaker to the left jaw.<br>In summary: incapacitated for fifteen seconds, ears ringing_

.

He lunges at me with a telegraphed right hook, which I easily dodge. He tries to charge me, but I step away at the last moment, leaving him to fall on a table, breaking it in two.  
>|He changes his strategy and throws a quick left jab. I easily block it and throw a powerful body shot into his liver, making him bend over and grunt in pain.<br>I slap his ears, leaving him dazed.  
>I hit his right jaw with a big cross, which makes him fall. He gets up, but the barman decides that since I had knocked him down, victory was mine. Bruce then talks to me.<p>

"-Good for you, I reckon. You're stronger than you look. Here's your twenty shillings.

-I'll buy you a drink." Upon hearing that he would be served booze, he almost laughs with pleasure.

"Good winner! Let's drink!"

Without him noticing, I pour some pure alcohol into his ale, which made it much stronger, and made him much more drunk. He gulps it down. Almost instantly, he starts to look drowsy. Now was the time to ask him.  
>Alcohol makes people talk even more readily than even the toughest interrogation methods<p>

"-You got a job?

-Yeah, for a Norwegian fella, Daniel Marker, his name was, I think. Told me to 'convince' some poor sods to help him out. Gave me five pounds for each one I 'convinced'

-What is this Drago- I mean Daniel, like.

-Oooh, he's a warm fella.

-Warm?

-Yeah, you don't wanna get too close to him, cause he's warm and he'll burn ya.

-Ah.

-But he's filthy rich. I don't care what he's planning, but I help him. Tonight, I'll catch a journalist called Neville and beat him into helping Mr. Marker. I'll catch him as he goes to his home on Brook Street.  
>I've also heard from my friend, Samuel Crooke ,that he's working for Daniel too. Sam's told me that he's got an assassination job somewhere near Norway.<br>Mr. Marker has sent someone to pick him up just this afternoon."

I feel a shiver down my spine. So, Samuel will have to assassinate someone. I've dealt with this assassin before, there's nothing he won't do. He was one of Moriarty's hit-men.  
>Expert in small blades, hand to hand combat and stealth. He also was a master poisoner. Outside of Colonel Moran, he was the person Moriarty always went to if he needed someone 'taken care of'.<p>

And if his contract was near Norway, it was almost certainly in Berk and his target is almost certainly…

I get up without saying a word, but Bentcliffe was so drunk from ingesting pure alcohol, that he didn't even notice it. Getting people drunk was always a good way of getting them to say secrets.  
>I was genuinely terrified at the thought of Samuel hunting down Haddock. I normally care little about my clients, but so many things depended on Haddock staying alive…<p>

The cases of "The Dancing Men" and "The Five Orange Pips" were still haunting my memory, the two cases in which I had failed to protect the life of the very men who had sought my help.  
>All I could do was pray that this won't be another case like this. The worst part is that me and Watson could not go before Haddock sent us the first letter. The time which it would take him to send the letter and then send him a reply was going to be considerable. All I could do was hope that we got to him before Samuel did…<p>

_**Watson:**_ My friend had arrived storming into his room and coming out in less than a minute fully dressed. Although he was looking as elegant as ever, especially compared to the disguise he was wearing mere minutes ago, he was very concerned.

"-What is it, Holmes?

-Pack your bags, Watson, and pack those winter coats if you don't want us to catch a cold.

-What? Already? But we don't even know how to reach Berk!

-Not yet, Watson, but I wish to pack my disguise kit, my chemistry set, enough tobacco to last me a month, part of my archives, not to mention an entire suitcase worth of revolvers, bullets and weapons, so I will need some time to pack. We cannot spare a moment. The moment Haddock's letter arrives will be the moment we set off."

I sigh. _'There goes my vacation in Dorset' _I thought.

"-I think that you will find this holiday much more exciting than going to Dorset, Watson.

-Wha-! Holmes!? Did you just… read my mind?

-No, I did not.

-Then how on Earth did you know that I was thinking about Dorset!?

-It is elementary, my dear Watson. You have packed your suitcase this morning with a woodman's coat, binoculars for bird-watching and hiking equipment.  
>And one week earlier you mentioned that one of your old college friends, Doug Teller, had sent you letter in which he said that he had bought a countryside villa in Dorset and that he welcomed you to visit him anytime you please.<br>Therefore, the suitcase you were packing was undoubtedly readied to visit your friend. Don't worry, this holiday-

-Holiday?!

-Very well, business trip, shall undoubtedly be infinitely more exciting than bird-watching in Dorset."

The next morning, the moment I stepped into the sitting room, Holmes blocked my view and said rather nervously:

"-Watson, keep Mrs. Hudson away from the sitting room!

-What? Why?

-Just do it, man! But first, fetch me a fish.

-Fish?

-Yes, fish. We have to pay the courier with something, don't we?"

He said pointing to a medium sized green lizard with an oversized head, and two leathery strips to it's back which I could only assume were wings, who had a rolled-up piece of paper tied to it's leg. 

* * *

><p><em>OK, so, here it is!<em>

_In case you don't know:_

_Baritsu: A Japanese martial arts style which Holmes is known to practice._

_Holmes's plan of attack based on deduction: A reference to the Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes films._

_The Dancing Men and The Five Orange Pips: Classic SH stories, in which Sherlock's clients die after they seek his help_


	14. Chapter 14- The Trip Part I

_Watson:_ After seeing Toothless, a dragon the size of a cat couldn't surprise me.  
>As Holmes tried and calmed the little dragon by letting him sniff his hand, I rushed downstairs to the kitchen. After grabbing a fresh cod, I saw Mrs. Hudson going towards the sitting room.<p>

"-Mrs. Hudson, you mustn't enter!

-Dr. Watson! Why not? And what in the world are you doing with that… is that a fish?

-Yes, umm, Holmes is doing an experiment, and for your own safety I advise you not to enter the sitting room, this experiment is likely to become… flammable."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head.

"-This early in the morning he's already fiddling with those blasted chemicals? Tell him that if he burns down anything it'll be on his rent.

-I will. Now, Mrs. Hudson could you please go to James the tobacconist and tell him to send me half a crown worth of Jamaica tobacco with peppermint?

-Very well, but please don't burn anything!"

As she left I sigh in relief. We had just dodged a bullet. Of course, Holmes and I trusted Mrs. Hudson as much as we trusted each other, but I really didn't want to have to explain to our landlady every single detail of the case, as it would have taken all day to convince her that this was truth, not fiction.  
>I go back into the sitting room and place the cod on plate near the Terror (I later found out that this is what they are called) and he started eating it gratefully.<p>

Holmes took the letter and started to read it silently. I suddenly heard him gasping and when I looked at him his face turned a cadaverous white and his eyes suddenly started re-reading a certain line.

"-No. No this cannot be…

-Holmes?

-Here is a case that… didn't end as I had expected. It's entirely my fault.

-What? Do you mean that Haddock is… dead?!

-Most likely. Samuel has reached him. Someone has tried to poison his food yesterday, but he didn't eat it thanks to his winged friend's keen sense of smell, who prevented him from eating it.

-Then it means that he is safe!

-No. Samuel Crooke is an expert assassin. He won't miss a second time. Our young client has most likely died mere hours after sending this letter."

He ran a trembling hand through his hair and I swear that he looked as if he was about to start… crying? Since when is Sherlock so emotional? But instantly, his face lit up with hope.

"Wait, there's more to this letter!"

He then looked at the bottom of the paper and let out a scream of satisfaction and started gesticulating with his hands out of sheer joy while saying

"Yes, yes, he's safe!"

I looked at him baffled. Was this truly my friend who was always so calm, so capable of hiding his emotions?

"-Watson, our young client is very intelligent! He says here that he has flown with Toothless to a place which would take weeks to reach by any other means! He's safe! The only thing that Samuel can do now is wait for him to return, but then we will be with him!

-So?

-So, telegraph for a large four-wheeler cab, for we have a lot of luggage! The game, my dear Watson, is afoot!

-But how will we get to him?

-First we take a train to the city of Ipswich, then board a steamer to Norway.

-And then?

-Then we will buy a small yacht to go to a small uninhabited island, which Haddock was kind enough to mark on this map he sent along with the letter. I have some modest navigation knowledge, and this island is not that far away from the Norwegian mainland, therefore we will have little trouble finding it. We light a campfire to let Haddock know that we are there.

-And after that?

-After that, friend Watson…, I sincerely hope that you are not afraid of heights.

-Wait… Do you seriously believe that I will get on the back of a-

-Yes. It's not that bad.

-How could you know?

-How bad can it be? I mean, you've survived India, Afganistan, years of going against this world's vilest criminals and conspirators not to mention living with me as a roommate for years. What could possibly be more dangerous than living with a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to cocaine abuse?"

I couldn't help but laugh at Sherlock's self-mockery even though I knew he was only joking. Holmes then wrote a response to the letter, and sent the Terror out the window after telling it/him to take it back to The Chief of Berk and only the chief of Berk.

"Alright, my bags are already packed" I said pointing to the two suitcases by the table. Years as a soldier have made me a very quick and light packer. Some clothes, a pipe, one pound of tobacco, my service revolver together with a box of ammo, my doctor's bag, my toothbrush and a razor for shaving was usually all I needed. But I have also packed some very thick winter clothes, as Holmes had advised me to do.

"Perfect, Watson, let me take my own bags out of my room" At that point, Holmes took three ridiculously large suitcases out of his room.

"-Oh, great, Holmes. I'm sure that the dragons will just love the idea of carrying those things.

-I specifically told Haddock to bring multiple dragons to our meeting point, as I'm afraid that each of these bags weigh about nine stone, so we'll need to have more than just Toothless to carry them.

-What have you got in them?

-This one contains part of my archives of newspapers, encyclopedias, monographs and any other document which may help us.  
>This one contains part of my chemistry set.<br>This one contains my disguise kit, as well as my clothes and my two revolvers.

-And the smaller one?

-Enough tobacco to last me a month.

-You've filled up an entire suitcase only with tobacco? That would be enough to supply a tobacconist for a week!

-I said that it's enough tobacco to last me a month, Watson." He said joking, but at the same time serious as he put on his coat and deerstalker and told me to get ready.

"-Ah, wait, I forgot.

-What did you forget, Holmes?

-This." As he said this he took a grey metallic tube out of a drawer.

"My reproduction of Haddock's fire-sword, this is how I found him guilty, remember?"

He then lit it and once again swung it near the furniture. He then turned it off.

"-One of these days you'll burn the house down, Holmes.

-Did you notice anything, Watson?

-Yes, you damn nearly set fire to a desk full of flammable chemicals!

-Outside of this, what else did you notice?

-Nothing.

-I only held it for a few seconds. After that, it becomes too hot to handle. Haddock is a very intelligent young man, to have crafted such a weapon. I shall ask him to show me his blueprints of this weapon, so that I may improve my own." It was a rarity for Holmes to compliment someone else's intelligence, and even more of a rarity to ask for help from someone else.

"-Let us go now! Samuel Crooke is either in or very close to Berk. We get him, we might manage to get some information about him. Let us go now, Watson, surely you don't want to miss the opportunity to take part in such a singular case!

-Of course, my friend!" I seriously do not know why I keep on letting Holmes drag me into his adventures. I always followed him whenever he had a case, but this was different! Usually, a case was within London. Now, we will go to a place which doesn't even appear on the map, on creatures that aren't even supposed to exist, for an undetermined amount of time.  
>Yet at the same time I felt like there was no greater act of treason I could commit against the man whom has been more of a brother to me than my real brother ever has been than letting him go against Drago Bludvist alone.<p>

I then noticed something shiny dangling from his watch-chain. At first I thought that it was the usual silver sovereign which Irene Adler had given him during the case which I had dubbed "A Scandal in Bohemia", but it was black.

"-Holmes what is that?

-I'll leave you to your deductions." he said.

I instantly realized that he had attached one of Toothless's scales to his watch-chain! This case really was making his emotions emerge like they only rarely do. We informed Mrs. Hudson of our departure, telling her only that we are going for a case in Norway and Holmes told her that we'd probably be gone for any amount of time between a few weeks and a month. We first stopped by my clinic in order for me to ask a favor from Richard Moore, a general practitioner himself.

I asked him to look after my clinic while I was away, as I very often looked after his own clinic while he was traveling to see patients in the countryside. He instantly accepted, especially with my promise that I would let him keep half my profits while he was in charge.  
>The train ride to Ipswich had been pretty uneventful, with Holmes not doing much other than puffing his pipe and writing his monograph on dragons, despite his lack of knowledge about them.<p>

The two-day steamer ride to Norway was pretty calm, except for the occasional gust of freezing wind. I personally really liked the sea-wind, and although being a soldier in India and Afganistan have made me tolerate scorching hot better than freezing cold, I did enjoy a cool breeze.  
>I spent most of my time on deck chatting with tourists or at the poker and roulette tables, as I still haven't kicked my gambling vice. Holmes was just sitting in his cabin, deep in thoughts and tobacco smoke. When the steward first brought him breakfast, he nearly dropped his tray, for he thought there was a fire in his cabin!<p>

Upon our arrival in the Norwegian city of Haugesund, Holmes wanted to hear nothing of staying overnight, visiting the city, or even having lunch in one of the lovely wooden hotels. Instead, he just bought some supplies from one of the harbour shops and then bought a small yacht from a retired fisherman who was hanging out in one of the pubs. The yacht itself was still sturdy, despite years of heavy use. Without delay, Holmes loaded our bags and our supplies onto the boat and set sail for the small island known as Fjoorda.  
>The trip was pretty quiet, considering that the Sea of Norway is known for it's choppy and stormy waters. I didn't know that Sherlock was a decent seaman, but then again there are few things that he isn't good at.<br>It didn't take more than six hours to get to the island. It was a small island. It wouldn't have taken one more than twenty minutes to walk all the way across it, but it was quite impressive.  
>There was a very small forest of young trees in the centre of it, with a hill overlooking the beach and the forest and a very beautiful pinkish sunset, which I knew would probably be turned into an aurora borealis by midnight.<p>

A gust of stabbing wind just went through me and I tucked into my winter coat. I certainly hoped we wouldn't be forced to stay in such a cold climate for long. But Holmes seemed to be very comfortable in his thin dark green coat and deerstalker, as he never did seem to be affected by the weather. Holmes and I dragged our bags to the top of the hill and he lit a campfire with his reproduction of the fire-sword. It was going to be dark soon. We passed the time by smoking or roasting some food which he'd bought from the town.

"-Holmes, I still don't understand one thing.

-What?

-If Berk is around Norway and those letters that you found had elements of Old Norwegian, then how come they speak English?

-Do you remember what I said when I had analysed those letters, Watson? It had elements of Old Norwegian and Old English. I also deduced that it was phonetically identical to English. If you had read the 'True History of England' by Alfred Carruthers, then you would have seen that shortly after The First Crusade, a small town east of London simply became deserted overnight. They in fact just left to colonise the Far North.

While they obviously did not succeed, they mingled with the inhabitants of The Mysterious North, therefore establishing this language. Oh, and Watson, it goes without saying, but keep your revolver in your pocket.

-Of course I will! I won't be surprised, I already saw Toothless, I even played with him a little!

-I'm not talking about Toothless. There will be other dragons, and I expect them to be big, and as a former soldier you are bit '_shoot first, ask questions_ _later_'-ish.

-And you are sure that Haddock is still alive?

-The window of time between him sending the letter and then hiding with Toothless in a spot which is inaccessible without flying was a very small one, as he was aware of the danger. And he was without a doubt guarded during that time. But it still is a possibility. Slim and very grim to think about, but a possibility nonetheless…" he said with a concerned face.

"-And how do you expect to put a stop to Drago's plans, whatever they are? I mean, he's established quite a network in London, and maybe even other cities, and yet he's still in the far reaches of The Sea of Norway.

-Data, data, data, Watson. I cannot make bricks without clay. However I expect to have plenty to work with once we reach Berk…" Eventually the sun had set completely and there was nothing but a small string of orange left above the ocean and the meagre bonfire that was keeping illumination.

"-Are you sure that this was the day that he comes to pick us up?

-Yes, he was the one who suggested the date, March the 1st.

-And this is the right island?

-Yes, he described to me in detail, as well as marking it on the map.

-Well, I sure hope they'll come soon…

-Be careful what you wish for, or have you forgotten the means of transportation by which we will get there?

-Oh, good Lord… Can't we just sail there? I mean, how hard can it be?

-Firstly, I have no maps which lead me to Berk. Secondly, the seas around there are so choppy that we would need a veritable floating fortress to pass them, not that toothpick of a yacht. Thirdly, flying is quicker. And fourthly, that would be futile as they will be with us in approximately two minutes and seven seconds.

-How do you know that?" I asked.

He smiled, fixed his deerstalker, and pointed to three dots in the sky, one larger than the other. At first glance it seemed like nothing more than a small flock of traveling birds. But as they approached, it became clear that they were not birds…

"-Hah! There's a sight that only a few days ago would have frozen my blood!

-I think it still will, my dear Watson. Prepare yourself. Get the bags ready, and mind your manners." 

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the delay, got held up.<em>

_Not much happens in this chapter, I know, but the next chapters will more than make up for this ;)_

_In case you don't know:_

_Watson's gambling addiction: In Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes_, _Watson has a gambling vice_

_Berk's history: Just something I came up with to explain why they speak English, as it would have taken Sherlock and Watson way too much to learn another language, so I just made this up, sorry!_

_And yes, Holmes has just complimented someone else's intelligence_


	15. Chapter 15- The Trip II- Grief

_**Merry Christmas to all!**_

_I should warn you that there is some grief in this chapter. Like really, really sad stuff._

_You have been warned._

_My first hand at writing a bit of tragedy, so tell me how it worked out. (Don't worry, Hiccup's alive ;) )_

_Sorry for the pain._

**_Haddock_**:

"There they are!" I yelled pointing to the orange dot in the semi-darkness, which I knew had to be a bonfire, just like I knew that the two silhouettes that stood by it had to be Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Mom, however, was concerned.

"-Are you sure it's them, Hiccup? You know that if it's anyone else, and they see us…

-No, it has to be them. Sherlock gave me his word that he'd be here today.

-What if he got the wrong island? It could be just tourists, you know…

-Sherlock Holmes is _never_ wrong. Trust me.

-Speaking of trust. Are you sure that we can trust this detective and the doctor?

-With my life, mom. He gave us information about Drago, which proved to be legit, and the information already helped us save some dragons, returned my flight gear and Inferno, and cleared my name.

-He beat you up and arrested you!" said mom in a rather cold and scolding tone which only a mother could muster.

"He had no idea who I was! He was only doing his job, which is a noble one, by the way."

I then breathe deeply and feeling shame welling up in my chest.

"He only did his duty. He arrested a murderer…"

Mother then looked slightly ashamed of making me remind myself of doing that dreadful deed.

"-Hiccup… Son… You had no choice. Men who kill without reason cannot be reasoned with.

-Still… I could have been a bit more diplomatic with Maul.

-Are we going to hover and chit-chat here all day, or are going down to pick up the only two men who can help us?" Astrid cut in.

"Right… Come on, Cloudjumper! Slowly… Over there,!"

We all landed about fifty yards from Holmes and Watson. Mother looked at them carefully, and after seeing that neither of them panicked, (although Watson did take a few steps backwards, his hand instinctively in his coat-pocket, he instantly calmed when Holmes signaled him to stay put), we all dismounted and went towards them. Holmes went towards us first and looked rather relieved to see me.

"Good evening, Haddock." He said shaking my hand.

"Good to see you again, Astrid. My jaw still hurts when I speak, by the way." He said laughing.

"And your mother, I presume?" he concluded gently shaking her hand.

"-Yes, I am his mother, Mr. Holmes. How did you guess?

-I never guess. Same eyes, same shape of the nose, same shape of the ears. All of these features combined result to the fact that you are a first grade relative of him. Which makes you by necessity either an older sister or his mother. Since he has not mentioned a sister to me, this makes you by simple process of elimination, his mother.

-Indeed, Mr. Holmes! You have already met Toothless. This is my loyal dragon, Cloudjumper, and Astrid's Nadder, Stormfly.

-And I am Doctor John Hamish Watson." Said Watson, finally looking confident.  
>Holmes ungloved his hand and gave it to Cloudjumper and Stormfly respectively to sniff it. Mom looked at the scene with a mix of surprise and pride.<p>

"-You are already good with dragons, Mr. Holmes!

-Indeed. Watson, come here, they won't bite. Well, only if you're stupid enough to draw your gun…" As Watson started going towards Cloudjumper and Stormfly, Holmes began to speak to us.

"-It's a relief to see you alive, young man.

-Thank you, Holmes.

-Oh… Mr. Holmes, if it weren't for Toothless, my son would have…" As she said this mom nearly began to cry. I remembered that when I had told her of this, she said that she wouldn't have been able to cope with losing me again.

"-Indeed. Exactly how did this happen? You were a little vague in your letter.

-Well, the day after I arrived home I got a bit of spare time and decided to fly out with Toothless, since I have been missing for over a month. When we decided to land a bit to rest, I got some food out of my knapsack. I noticed an apple among the other pieces of food, and decided to eat it. But before I could take a bite, Toothless knocked it out of my hands and made a terrified coo. I instantly realized what was going on. It's a good thing dragons have such a good sense of smell.

-I hope you have kept the apple. A chemical analysis will tell us exactly what type of poison was used.

-I thought of throwing it away, but then I remembered that you can draw the most important conclusions from the tiniest of clues, so I stored it away in a locked icebox.

-You have done wisely. And I hope that you enjoyed the little vacation you have had with Toothless while dodging Samuel Crooke.

-Who?

-The assassin who was sent after you. While you were going back home, I had deduced that Drago had hired Samuel Crooke, Bruce Bentcliffe and Gino Garcia, each of them career criminals, and they even used to work for Professor Moriarty. Out of all of them, Bruce is the weakest link. I got him drunk and he told me that Samuel went with Drago, or 'Daniel' as is his alias, to somewhere near Norway in order for Crooke to carry out an assassination job. I then deduced that the target was almost certainly you. May I look at Cloudjumper, Miss Haddock?

-Please, call me Valka. And yes, certainly."

Holmes then went to Cloudjumper, whom had curled up behind Mom, Astrid and myself by now. Holmes literally looked at the Stormcutter with his magnifying glass.  
>If Cloudjumper had eyebrows, he would have raised one, but instead, he just tilted his head. Holmes seemed particularly interested in his claws.<br>After about twenty minutes of his strangely meticulous search, in which he even climbed on his back, Holmes thanked Cloudjumper by patting him and then went to me and mom with a rather annoyed face.

"-Haddock, why did you not tell me?

-Tell you what, Holmes?

-If you are my client, you should trust me with everything. You know that hiding information from me is futile. You saw how easily I found out the truth about your father's death, and I perfectly understood the circumstances, and now you don't give me vital information, simply because you think that I won't understand the circumstances. About your mother…"

I feel a cold knot in my chest. Now I've probably lost the trust of the one man who can help me.

"-I-I'm sorry Holmes, I'll tell you everything-

-No, merely correct me if I'm wrong. Twenty years ago, only months after your premature birth, your mother was carried away by Cloudjumper to the Alpha's sanctuary. She, like you, was doubtful that dragons truly were the killing machines that the Vikings thought they were.  
>During a dragon attack, Cloudjumper entered the chief's house and only thought to… play with you and accidentally scratched you on the chin, hence the small scar which matches Cloudjumper's claw shape. Your mother had then received the final proof that dragons were not ferocious creatures, but your father saw things differently. He panicked, and attacked Cloudjumper.<br>Then, Cloudjumper ran off. With you, Valka. He must have thought you belonged there. I know this, because your walk-cycle is a rather strange one, one that is characteristic of people whom have spent years in the wild.  
>Your complexion is so pale, and you seem to know so much about dragons, that it must be that you have been riding dragons for at least twenty years, which would be impossible, since the Great Peace between Vikings and dragons only began five years ago.<br>Therefore, this is the only plausible theory. You rejoined along with your son, who found you by a feat of luck while flying towards Drago, hoping to reason with him.  
>You recognized him by the scar on his chin. Now, the only mystery that remains is, why did you chose to hide this from me in the first place?"<p>

Mother listened and I listened to Holmes's explanation with both shock and awe. I already knew that he was a genius, but being able to deduce all of this mere minutes after seeing my mother and Cloudjumper, was just beyond belief. Mom broke the silence.

"-I'm sorry.

-What for, Valka? If you had returned atop Cloudjumper while the Vikings were still fighting dragons, you would have most likely been branded as a traitor, probably even executed. This nearly happened to Haddock when he tried to convince them that dragons were harmless as long as they were understood.

-You understand everything, Holmes!" Mother broke out in joy and admiration, no longer using the appellative of 'Mister' .

"There are only very few things which I do not understand." Said Holmes. We all curled up around the bonfire and decided to stay the night on the island before flying back to Berk.

_**Watson: **_The more I heard about the two women, the more my admiration for them grew. To live for twenty years away from civilization, and then to have to bear watching your son's best friend being forced to kill the man you loved the most only two days after reuniting with him…

"-You know, Dr. Watson, I almost felt like Stoick dying just after the ecstasy of seeing him again was punishment for leaving him for so long. I blamed myself.

-You mustn't do that. I felt the same too. When Mary died…

-Your wife?" I felt my heart sinking into my stomach, as I was holding back tears.

Mary… and my only son, whom I could not even hold in my arms for one second…

"-Yes… A few month after I thought that Sherlock had died…. I wished for Holmes to be my child's godfather, but since I thought he was dead…  
>Anyway, as you know, I'm a doctor, and sometime during her seventh month of pregnancy, I was at my clinic. When suddenly, I received a telegram, which if you don't know, it's a sort of a faster way of sending a letter, that… she gave birth…<p>

As a doctor, I knew that the child couldn't have survived this. All I was thinking about was Mary… I went back home as quickly as I could, and exiting through the front door was my next door neighbor, a doctor himself. I instantly realized from his face that…"

I swore to myself not to break down in front of Valka, but remembering his face as he said those words, even remembering them now as I write makes me stain the paper with my tears.

"-_Watson…_

-What is it, man? For God's sake, spit it out!

-She… she... she...

-Say it already, or I'll break your legs!" he then put his short slender hands forward defensively as I raise my walking-stick.  
>I then realize that I behaved like a blackguard.<p>

"-I'm sorry, Richard. Tell me. I'm a soldier, I am not given to fainting.

-She… she didn't make it. The child, a boy, was born without a pulse.

"

_I feel my every joint turn to ice, my head feels as if it's about to split in two from the pain. The street around me spins like a carousel._

I hear Richard. "Watson? Watson? Oh, for God's sake, Ivy, brandy and vinegar, now, we must get him on the couch!"  
>I wake up on the<p>

_couch, with the sour smell of vinegar under my nostrils and the strong brandy under my lips._

Wait, I'm on the couch, this means that this whole ordeal was just a nightmare. Just a horrible nightmare.  
>But it wasn't.<p>

Richard had told me that her last words were for me. "Tell John… That our son's name is… John Sherlock Harry Watson.

_One name for him, the other two for either of his two dead brothers. I know that is what he would've named him."_

I don't remember anything else from that dreadful day. Half because I have repressed it, half because afterwards I got so drunk, I couldn't remember a thing. I should mention that I am far from a drunkard, but I needed to be transported to another dimension, for I feared that if I didn't put alcohol in myself, I would break down and put a bullet in myself instead.

I had lost three halves of myself in just a few months. Sherlock Holmes, the man who had been like a brother to me, and now my Mary, and… my stillborn son, John Sherlock Harry Watson.

All of them, my fault. I left Holmes alone at Reichenbach, his death was my fault.

I left Mary when I knew that she was having complications. Three Halves… My life… gone. My fault.

Until…

"Holmes!? Is that you? Could it be that you're alive? Could you have gotten out of that awful chasm?"

In the short story I had dubbed "The Empty House", I only very scarcely spoke of my reunion with Holmes. Partly because I was slightly ashamed of myself. I couldn't do anything but literally cry on my friend's shoulder while lightly punching him to make sure that he wasn't a spirit. I should have perhaps been angry with him for leaving me for two years, but I didn't want to be mad at him. I had just gotten one half of myself back after I had thrown it away. I wouldn't throw it away again. But my other two halves are lost forever…

Mary...

My train of somber thoughts is broken by Holmes's tobacco-scented hand on my shoulder and Toothless gently nuzzling me while making a mournful coo.  
>I then realize that I had broken down in front of them. I turn to Valka.<p>

"-I-I'm sorry.

-No, Dr. Watson. It's alright. I still cry every time I think about Stoick…"

Holmes set out the sleeping bags near the bonfire.

"Let's to bed. We shall be heading to Berk first thing in the morning"

I lay down on a sleeping bag next to Toothless who had curled up into a ball like an overgrown cat. I still couldn't get over how graceful and beautiful these creatures can be.  
>He comforted me during my hours of grief. He has already proven to me to be more human than most people that I have met. I close my eyes and hope for sleep to come. It does eventually come.<p>

Mary…

Suddenly, I'm awoken from my sleep by a sharp sound. Was that a scream? I grab my revolver and look around.  
>I lower it when I see that Haddock was breathing heavily, his mother, Astrid and Toothless near him.<p>

"-Is everything alright, my young man?

-Yes, Watson. It's alright, I'm in no need of medical attention doctor. Just a dream."

_**Haddock:**_ No. Not a dream. A nightmare. A dreadful, dreadful nightmare.

I have had this sort of dream before, but tonight it was so real, so vivid, and even more dreadful. I was near The Sanctuary again. The White Alpha had just been slain by Drago's Bewilderbeast. Good dragons under the control of bad men, do evil things.

"In the face of it, you are nothing!"

Toothless shakes his every joint and screeches, trying futilely to escape the influence.

No.

This time it will be different. I feel my Inferno sword in my hilt. If I kill Drago, maybe the influence breaks. Slim chance, but it's my only chance. I then realize that I cannot move. I am tied to something. To a pole. Toothless' pupils turn into slits as his mind and his feelings are cruelly taken away from him.

"Holmes! Help us!" I hear someone crying. I look to my left and Watson is tied to the same pole, within breathing distance of myself. Drago just looks at us laughing with that awful, menacing grin. Suddenly, I hear a crunching sound and Drago nearly falls over. Holmes is standing behind him in a boxing stance, his right fist bloody, and I realize that he had just punched Drago, hard.

Drago snarls louder than even The Alpha ever could and lunges at the much smaller man.  
>Holmes dodges him, while sweeping his legs.<p>

This move would have normally been enough to knock someone down, but not a behemoth like Drago. Drago swings his dreadful prosthesis arm at Holmes.

Sherlock tries to counter, but Drago's arm was so big, that it covered too much ground. Holmes goes down, blood gushing out of the right side of his head. Drago turns back, certain that he had won, as he keeps on watching Toothless inching his way towards us, controlled by the new Alpha. I try to break free from the chains, but they're too strong, even a rope would be able to immobilize me, not to mention steel chains.

"Holmes, I beg of you!" Watson pleads. Suddenly I hear a snarl of rage and I see Holmes hanging behind Drago, choking him from behind.

Ironically, it was now Drago the one who was being held in an inescapable chokehold. Drago tries to catch Sherlock from behind, but the detective tightens his grip on his bull-like neck so much, that Drago falls down on his knees.

With a cat-like reaction, Holmes wastes no time, and hits Drago in the head with a skillful roundhouse kick to his temple. The blasted warlord falls down.

Not even the strongest of men can resist a direct hit to the side of the head, especially since Holmes knows exactly what pressure points to hit in order to knock someone out.

I learned that on my own skin.

Holmes runs towards us, bruised and beaten, but his eyes, cold like steel, his lips pursed into a tight white line. He sees that Toothless was being controlled. Every scenario had already crossed his brilliant mind. He puts his hand into Watson's coat-pocket and retracts his friend's revolver. He shoots Drago's unconscious body in the head.  
>He probably thought that with his master dead, the Bewilderbeast will break his influence over Toothless.<br>But he didn't. Toothless was still being controlled.

Holmes snarls in frustration and looks at Toothless, who was now only a couple of feet from us. He puts himself in-between us and Toothless and just stood there.

No. Holmes cannot die like my father. He can't. I have to stop this.

"-Holmes! No! There has to be another way! -

You are correct. There _is_ another way." He said grimly and full of regret.

He then pointed his gun at Toothless.

NOOOO!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It was then that I woke up.  
>For months, nearly every night, I have had the same dream, with some slight variations, but the place and Toothless being mind-controlled <em>never<em> changed in that dreadful nightmare.

But now, at least, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson will help me put Drago in the ground for good.

Holmes himself once said to me "During my career, I have dealt with psychopaths, professional criminals, serial killers, rapists, conspirators, not to mention Professor James Moriarty, who is, or rather was, in a league of his own. None have ever turned my stomach the way Drago Bludvist has."

* * *

><p><em>Longest chapter yet!<em>

Sorry for all the pain, but sometimes a little tragedy is necessary. :(

Merry Christmas!


	16. Chapter 16- The Trip III- The Arrival

_**Haddock:**_ I woke up the next morning after a restless sleep. To be reminded of that day again…

Never had I felt so much pain and so much joy in the course of just a few days… On one hand, that was the day I had found out my mother is alive and well, and learned so much from each other in the course of only a few days- I felt reborn.

On the other… I cannot even say what hurt me the most: my father dying because of my foolishness and cowardice (why didn't I at least try to get out of the way? It's my fault…), seeing my best friend emotionless and controlled like that, the fact that my mother and father were separated only a couple of days after they got back together, the stress of being chief, not to mention finding out that Drago, the most despicable human being which I have ever had the displeasure of setting my eyes upon was still alive. My father died, and Drago's _still_ alive! That bastard…

Never have I felt so much resentment and disgust for one person. He says he was doing this to free humans from dragons? Ha! Even a half-wit two-year old could see through this excuse. He just wanted power. All those burned down villages, all those kidnapped dragons, all those chiefs dead at the infamous meeting at which even my father took part, all for him to be king of the world? I thought it was impossible for someone to be this cruel, this narrow-minded, this evil.

I remember that I had once asked Holmes why he thinks Drago did all this. He snorted in laughter and said "For such a clever young man you can be amazingly naïve sometimes. Bad people do bad things, because they can. They just want to prove they're better than others, or they want to achieve their goals by any means necessary, or they just take joy in watching others suffer. Those are what we commonly refer to as psychopaths, madmen, evil men, whatever. But when madness is combined with intelligence and strength… then they truly are dangerous."

I was the first one up, dawn barely cracking on the sky. I once again check on Toothless. That dream really got to me. All the dreams I had with Toothless being controlled got to me, and made me shiver in fear, concern and sorrow. But this was the first dream in which I saw Toothless die. Worst nightmare I've ever had...

_"Holmes! Please, don't!"_

_At that point, I swear I saw Holmes shiver and a tear running down his right cheek. Holmes never cried. Watson had told me that the only time Holmes had ever shown a few tears was shortly after Holmes's return. Watson told him how he felt after losing him, then Mary and his stillborn child. At that point Holmes was so sorry for not being there for his friend when he needed him the most, that he actually shed a few tears. Watson told me that he was by no means sobbing, but he caught a glimpse of the great heart that was hiding behind that great mind.  
>Back to my dream, or more rather nightmare, Holmes then still pointed his gun at Toothless, who was inching ever closer to us.<em>

"_I'm sorry, I truly, truly am, Haddock. But I'm afraid there's no other alternative. And if __**I**_ _couldn't think of any other option, then there is no other option. He was more human than most men I have had to deal with. I know he would sacrifice himself for you. I'm sorry"_

I squeeze my eyes shut, only hearing three loud bangs, and then a loud thud of a heavy body falling over. My eyes still tightly closed, I can hear a man weeping. Holmes.

The great Sherlock Holmes, was weeping. Then I wake up.

After Watson had checked on me, I somehow managed to fall back to sleep, maybe just because I held Toothless with one hand, as if I was afraid that he would leave. How could I not be, after that dream?  
>Usually after dreams that took me back to those dreadful seconds in which Toothless would have killed me, had father not sacrificed himself, I have to stay a couple of minutes away from him, as if I'm scared or angry with him, and I am, in a way.<br>But now after I saw, or rather heard, Toothless getting shot, I just wanted him to be as close as possible to me.

I decide that it's best that we all go to Berk as quickly as possible, so I start by waking Toothless.

"Hey! Waky-waky, lazybones! Come on, you'll have to carry some of our friends' bags! There's five of them, one larger than the other, and Cloudjumper and Stormfly can't carry all of them!"

He grunts lightly while pushing me away, while curling up even more into a ball. Right, maybe I'll have less trouble with Sherlock Holmes, he's always eager to even skip sleep entirely for cases. But, I was wrong. Holmes wasn't even asleep. He was scribbling something in a journal of sorts. I scoffed as I watch him. He's probably been like this all night long, yet he still looked as fresh as if he had just woken up.

"-Good morning, Holmes! Did you get any sleep?

-I did not attempt to sleep. I added information to my monograph on dragons. I believe I have made serious progress, for I already have written on four different species, the ones I came in contact with." I felt my heart lift as I saw just how interested Holmes was about dragons. Seeing him writing his own "Book of Dragons" reminded me of Fishlegs. But while Fish was always excited and nervous, Holmes was extraordinarily calm, emotionless even.

But I felt even more so, when I saw the monograph.

"-Holmes! These are very exact data! How did you manage to notice so many things in so little time? You even saw the Night Fury's ability to raise it's spine in order to make tight turns!? How did you see that? It took me five years to discover this, and even then, mom had to show me!

-Simple observation. You see but you do not observe. A simple look at the small spikes on his back and I realized that they were retractable; they moved slightly when I pulled them. This same way, I found the Nadder's ability to throw spikes from it's tail as a defensive measure. As for the Stormcutter's ability to go higher altitudes more quickly is evident from it's second pair of wings, as well as the fact that it's skin is much more humid, not from perspiration, but undoubtedly from staying slightly longer at high altitudes.

-I know I've said it a few times now, Holmes, but you are brilliant! I have no doubt that it took my mother at least a few years to notice the Night Fury's spine-lifting, and you made it out immediately!

-Simple observation." He said dismissively.

"-Shall we go now, young man?

-Well, we should first plan where to put your massive suitcases, Holmes. You're not moving in with us, you know, why did you get so much luggage?

-I am merely preparing myself for any eventuality. For example, that red one over there contains my chemistry set. It will help us to determine exactly the kind of poison that was used on the apple you nearly ate, and I have no doubt that it will help me in many other circumstances during the investigation.  
>The other two large ones, the green one contains my archives, newspaper clippings, research notes, encyclopedias, so that I may consult them anytime, should the need arise.<br>The black one contains my personal belongings, as well as my disguise kit. As for Watson's bags, don't worry, they are very light, his experiences in India and Afganistan have made him a very light packer.  
>I am afraid poor Cloudjumper shall have to carry most of them, since he's the strongest. Please tell him to be careful with my chemistry set. It's in a special suitcase with protective fibre, but still…<br>You wife's dragon can carry the remaining large bag, Toothless will carry all of the light bags. I'll go with you, Watson with Stormfly and Astrid. That should not be that much of a burden for them.

-Cloudjumper's going to hate you, you know." I said jokingly, but serious at the same time.

"-And why should I care? A lot of dangerous people hate me.

-Yes, but not fifteen-foot tall creatures that can breathe fire!

-Oh, trust me, the people that truly hate me are much more dangerous than that." He said seriously.

"-Haddock, I suggest we have a quick breakfast and then go to Berk.

-Of course. I suppose now is a good time to warn you that the flight may make you a bit sick since you're not used to it.

-I've never been sick in my life. And don't worry, neither I nor Watson are afraid of heights. Or speed. Or danger, for that matter."

The sound of sizzling eggs woke up everyone, and while the dragons went fishing, we made small talk to pass the time.

"My husband has read me some of your adventures." Said Astrid to Holmes.

"-But it does sometimes seem incredible how you can find out such important information from trifles.

-Astrid, I always say that there is nothing as important as trifles.

-I know it may sound childish, but I want to see it myself. What can you make of this?" She asked, pulling out her axe and handing it to Holmes. Holmes analyzed it with his magnifying glass for a while and then said:

"-A gift for your fifteenth anniversary, that much is evident from both the fact that it's a bit lighter, and from the exquisite carvings which make it as much of an art piece as it is a deadly weapon. The work of two blacksmiths in fact…  
>One of them is very strong, and quite meticulous, left handed. However, I think I am not mistaken when I say that his left hand is missing, and rather than learn how to use his right hand, he has developed multiple arm prosthesis.<p>

-That's Gobber." Said Astrid smiling.

"-The head blacksmith?

-Yes.

-The other blacksmith who worked on this piece: Out of training entirely, left handed himself. However, despite his strength shortcomings, he is meticulous himself, even more so than the other one. He is the one who has carved, let me translate it…, ah. 'The Steel of Valhalla, for my Valkerye'. However, since he has made this piece, he has grown and is no longer out of training, although still quite slim. And I'm looking at him right now."

He said smiling, looking straight at me. Astrid scoffed shortly looking impressed beyond words.

"-You know, Holmes, it took him years to confide to me that he was the one who made my birthday present!

-Yeah, mainly because back then I still was a scrawny little fishbone, and I didn't know how she'd respond." I added.  
>At this she punched me in the arm, quite hard.<p>

"-Astrid! What was that for?

-That's for reminding of the time I behaved like a jerk to you!" she yelled.

As usual, before I could say anything, she kissed me deeply for what couldn't have been less than a whole minute.

"That's for everything else." She said smiling.

When Toothless, Cloudjumper and Stormfly returned, we decided to set off immediately. Luckily we had fitted each of them with multiple straps and storage compartments before setting off, each of them perfectly capable of carrying a small army's worth of supplies, so a few bags weren't a problem.  
>Or at least Watson's bags weren't. Holmes insisted that he loaded his bags himself. Upon loading the chemistry set bag on Cloudjumper, he insisted that he is very careful with it.<p>

"Trust me, Cloudjumper, if one of those chemical vials breaks it will not only affect the investigation, but there is also a distinct possibility that it may blow up." Cloudjumper took the heavy load better than I had expected, but then again, Cloud is both cocky and strong, and he really didn't want to look like a heavier load was getting him down. I gave two simple leather strap-gears to Holmes and Watson.

In an instant, Holmes put it on and knew exactly how to strap himself onto Toothless' saddle.

"You'll go on Stormfly, Watson." Said Holmes.

"-Holmes, you do realize that this is very crazy?

-You knew this was going to happen, Watson. Besides, we've went on hot air balloons, so you can't say that you didn't fly before.

-Those things go at fifty miles an hour at most, Holmes!

-Yeah, well, remember when we had to climb on top of a racing express train*? It cannot be much worse. In fact I believe it can be relaxing when done right.

-The things you get me into, Holmes…

-It's what you like, friend; You were a doctor who went to war. You couldn't lead a civilian life for more than a few months before moving in with a consulting detective who constantly gets himself and those around him in dangerous situations (That's me by the way, hello!),you carry your gun wherever you go, you cannot stay in a rowdy pub for more than a few minutes without starting a fight, even your walking stick conceals a three-foot sharpened sword.

-Well, then… come on, John…, courage…" Said Watson as he reluctantly mounted Stormfly on the back-saddle. Holmes tightened his own straps.

"-Haddock, I do recommend you go a bit slower at first.

-Why? Worried for Watson?

-No, I wish to smoke my pipe. And I don't want the wind to knock the tobacco out of it."

I couldn't help but crack a laugh at this.

"Let's go bud." I said to Toothless.

_**Watson:**_ Holmes made sure that his chemistry bag was tightly strapped. Even after Haddock and Valka had strapped it with multiple buckles and ropes, Holmes still tightened it himself with some rope from the fishing boat.  
>Even though Cloudjumper only had Valka to carry, he certainly had the heaviest load: Holmes's chemistry set and his disguise kit, both of which were extremely extensive.<br>Although I no longer was afraid of touching a dragon, flying was quite a scary notion.

_Come on, John Watson, you've survived worse!'_ I said to myself. I once again made sure the straps were tight.

"I'm ready." I said to Astrid who was holding the reins in front of me. Before I knew it, we were a few metres into the air.  
>It wasn't that much of a shock, Holmes and I had to charter a hot air balloon for a couple of cases, but what did shock me was the speed and the smoothness of the ride.<br>Well, surprise would be a better word, since I am a man who is very seldom scared, and I certainly would be the last person anyone would call a coward. In just a minute, we were at least a hundred yards up and the small island was quite a long way behind.

I buttoned up the last button on my collar, and pulled my hat on my eyes, for I knew that it would be getting quite cold.  
>I have to say that this was even better than a hot air balloon. The greatest awe was when we reached cloud level. In a hot air balloon it takes a while to reach that high a level, but this way, it took less than a few minutes, and that while going slow!<br>The awe of literally touching the clouds was just as big as when I first went on a hot air balloon, even bigger I would say.

We were going at the altitude of a balloon and with the speed of an express train.  
>However, while I must have done almost nothing but marvel at the awe of the whole thing with my mouth agape, Holmes was just behind Hiccup Haddock, leaning against my bags, puffing his pipe as casually as if he were in a London carriage.<p>

"Feels good, doesn't it, doctor?" asked Haddock.

"-Very good, young man. It's quite the adrenaline rush!

-And this is going slow! Just you see us when Toothless and I do stunts!

-I can't imagine it!

-Please, silence I'm trying to concentrate." Said Holmes, while Toothless seemed to be leaving smoke behind like a locomotive thanks to Sherlock's pipe smoking.

_**Haddock:**_ We reached Berk at about three in the afternoon (I was able to keep track of time quite good thanks to the pocket-watch I had bought from London and set it to Berk time) and as we approached my home, we saw a few wild dragons, including some large Timberjacks, at which Watson couldn't help but say "Whoa!"

Holmes hardly said anything throughout the trip. He occasionally looked at the scenery or at a few passing dragons, but his stone-cold face betrayed no emotion, yet I could almost see the gears turning behind those distant green eyes and the dark-green deerstalker.

We decided to land very close to the Chief's house (or my house, I guess…) Eret was there to greet us.

"-Good day, Chief! Had a nice trip?

-Certainly did! These are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson." Eret measured the two men from looks.  
>Holmes was quite thin, but very tall, nearly as tall as Eret, long in the leg, and although he looked thin, I knew that he could easily bend a knot in a steel poker*.<br>He looked quite imposing, even when close to larger men. Maybe it was just those piercing grey-green eyes which could stare daggers into the hearts of even the bravest, or soothe even the saddest (when he wanted to, of course).

Watson, on the other hand, while not as tall as his companion, was very broad in the shoulders, thick in the neck and arm, had an almost completely square chin, and quite large hands.  
>It was difficult to believe that those large hands were able to easily sew a delicate wound. In other words, he was almost Viking-like in appearance.<p>

Eret shook the hand of each of them, and introduced himself as "Eret, son of Eret" as was his custom. "

Tell, me Eret, why did you join Drago?" Asked Holmes.

Eret looked bewildered.

"-How do you know that?

-First of all, your complexion is slightly different from that of other Vikings around here, as well as your hairstyle and chin tattoos, therefore you are not from around here.  
>The scars on your hands were undoubtedly caused by hooks, the kinds used in bolas and other dragon-trapping weapons, your Chief was kind enough to show me some sketches of them.<br>Your chest is swollen, not from muscle, but a scar, without a doubt. That scar is in a certain pattern, you were tortured, when you returned empty-handed.  
>Your neck has a reddish nuance which further proves Drago's inhumanity to his own men.<br>And you certainly deserted when he decided that you were no longer of use to him.

-I-I'm speechless! It's all happened exactly as you said! You're even sharper than Fishlegs,!

-One more thing." Said Holmes rather icily.

"When I mentioned your dragon-trapping past you held your chin up; You don't regret your past, Eret." Said Holmes, his eyes looking so menacing that even Eret, one of the bravest men I've met, took a step back.

"You miss it" growled the detective menacingly.

Mom, to interrupt the conflict, showed Holmes and Watson to their rooms.  
>I felt a bit uneasy.<br>Eret, missing those days? I suppose that those were his glory days, after all, having a crew of his own, making a lot of gold from this gods-forsaken business... But Eret couldn't _truly_ miss being little more than a slave to Drago.  
>Could he? I regarded him as a good friend, and a good man, there was no way! I refused to believe that!<br>While Holmes and Watson were being led to their rooms by mom, I decided to talk to Eret about this.

"-Eret. We need to talk.

-About what?

-You know _exactly_ what! Do you really miss it?

-Of course not! OK, maybe, I was a bit proud of it back then, after all, no job got you more women around you than being a dragon-wrangler. And those were some nice days, when I was away from that bastard, that is! And tell your detective to stop being so hostile!"

Before I could say another word, he stormed out of the house. There still were unknown sides to that man.

"Hiccup, come here!" Mom called me into Holmes and Watson's room with a pretty terrified face. I rush up.  
>Holmes had laid out his chemistry set and already had some chemicals bubbling. Watson had changed into his smart grey suit and hat with his cane by his side, which I knew concealed a blade, and looked as if he was going out somewhere.<br>Near the vials on the table was an apple, the very apple which nearly poisoned me.

"-This is a very powerful poison, Haddock. Poisoned apple, not very original, but effective.  
>A few drops of hydrogen peroxide brought the foreign substance to the surface.<br>I used reagents to test it. It's cyanide, a very powerful poison.

Even before it reaches your stomach, it stops your breathing, paralyzes your vocal chords to stop you from screaming, then it stops your heart and, bingo, you are dead before you hit the ground.  
>Cyanide is nearly odourless to humans, which is why only Toothless was able to detect it.<br>However, cyanide is impossible to produce around here. You can only create it in a fully equipped laboratory. Therefore, this confirms that your would-be poisoner was Samuel Crooke, as only he would be able to have access to such a poison. And he most likely still is around here.

-There are no foreigners around here, no one arrived on our docks for at least a month! And we searched around the woods for a camp, but nothing!

-I know Crooke,he does what he can to blend in, a simple disguise is not a problem for him. You must be careful."

Watson started walking towards the door.

"-Where are you going?

-A walk. I just want to see the town. I see that you've recently paved the roads.

-Yeah, I was inspired by London's roads, you know. You're going out dressed like that?

-Yes, what about it? I know what you're thinking about, and no, I am nit wearing a viking outfit!

-Alright... Just don't get into any fights!

-I wouldn't dream of it. Why would I do that?

-No reason at all. The dragon racing begins in twenty minutes if you want to attend.

-How do you know I wanted to go see that?

-Because I know you are a gambling man. And you have taken gold and silver British coins, but left the notes on the desk, therefore you are hoping that we accept any kind of coins (we do, don't worry).

-Are you turning into a young Sherlock Holmes, Haddock?

-Maybe." I said smiling.

I spent the rest of the day attending my chief duties, which I will not bore you by describing them. Bottom line is, I returned at about ten o'clock.  
>When I returned, Watson was downstairs, sipping some tea from a wooden mug and looked very happy.<br>When I approached him I saw that his right eye was swollen.

"-Oh, Thor, Watson, I told you not to get into fights!

-Hey, it was only friendly sport! I went to the pub, or 'Great Hall' as they call it, and there was a little tournament for the day… Don't worry it wasn't brutal, it was just 'one punch, you're out!'

Damn, he got me good, lucky I'm a doctor!. If you think I look bad, you ought to see Spitelout, or whatever his name was. I insisted on treating his eye myself, a good fellow, but!

Your people know how to have a good time! And I've had some lovely conversation, too, particularly with the one-armed blacksmith! And I got a bit drunk! Ha, ha!  
>Oh and the dragon racing, I bet on your wife, and she won! It was… beyond belief! This whole part of the world is beyond belief. I feel like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole!<p>

-Yeah, I didn't have time to see Astrid, you know, with all my chief duties and all." I mumbled unhappily.

"-Where's Holmes?

-He's still upstairs, I should go to bed, Haddock.

-Goodnight, Watson." I head upstairs to my room. But just as I was about to go through a hallway that led to my bedroom, I feel a hand clasping itself hard on my mouth and nose and dragging me towards someone.

_Samuel Crooke, he's come after me!_ My mind yelled.

* * *

><p><em>Whoops, another cliffhanger! XD<em>

*_In 'The Speckled Band', Holmes was able to bend a steel poker with his bare hands._

_In the Guy Ritchie SH films, Watson has a cane which conceals a blade, an army discharge gift._

_I'm basing Sherlock and Watson's characters part on Guy Ritchie's films, part on the canon, part on 'Sherlock' BBC series, and also adding a bit of my own spin._

_Shout-outs are accepted, so, don't be shy, suggest ;)  
><em>


	17. No Chapter, Just A Quick Apology, Sorry

Hi everyone!

Just wanted to say that I probably won't be able to upload in a long time, school got to me, badly :(

The seventeenth chapter is about halfway done, but I don't want to post an unfinished chapter.

Know for sure that as soon as I'm able to do so, I shall take down this 'chapter' and replace it with 'Detective vs. Assassin'

Any suggestions about what you wish to happen in my story are welcome, as I will have plenty of time to think about them.

Cheers, and sorry again.


	18. Chapter 17- Detective vs Assasin

_I'M BACK!_ _:D_

_Sorry for the month-long hiatus, got caught up with school, but now I'll try to update every one or two weeks.  
><em>_  
>As always, please review<em>_!_

* * *

><p>Haddock:<p>

As if out of instinct I grab the hand, twist it, and once free, I turn back to strike my adversary. I cock my left hand, but I stop from swinging it as soon as I see who it was who sneaked up on me.

"-Holmes!? What are you doing sneaking up on me like that? You nearly took a punch!

-Shh… Speak in whispers. He's here.

-Samuel the assassin?

-I'm afraid so. And he's here for you." A cold shiver ran down my spine as he said that. I look around, I even look on the celling, but there wasn't anyone. However, I knew very well that an expert assassin could hide in plain sight. Worse still, I was not presently armed, I had left my Inferno sword at the stables, like a fool.

"-Where is he, Holmes?

-In the locker on the corridor, you nearly went past it, that's why I had to snatch you.

-How do you know that?

-Though you may have failed to notice the black trace on the bottom of the locker caused by friction of shoe leather, as a blacksmith you couldn't have possibly missed the aroma of wet steel, particularly a curved dagger, as he had to stay out in the rain until he had the opportunity to get in."

The blood in my veins froze as I thought that the man who has been trying to kill me for weeks was now only yards away, waiting in the locker. And if it hadn't been for Holmes, I'd have walked past it and then…

"-Right, I'll grab half a dozen of my men and pull him out!

-I'm afraid that Samuel is much too clever to be defeated by such a simple trick, he undoubtedly has created another way out, the locker has been moved over a window, if he sees guards conveying on his position, he'll just jump out of the window and he'll blend in before you can catch him.

-What do we do, then? Oh… I know that look… You're going to do something stupid?

-I never do anything stupid. Something crazy.

-What?

-Do you remember when Watson said that we looked very much alike?"

Before I could say another thing he opened the door to Watson's room while saying "Watson, I need your help." The two then went into Holmes's room. I stayed outside of Holmes's room for about half an hour. At one point I heard Holmes gurgling and then the sound of a sword coming out of a scabbard and cutting down a rope. "Everything is fine, stay outside!" Watson yelled from inside. After another period of time which couldn't have been more than five minutes, but felt like five hours (every time I glanced at that locker, I felt uneasy, yet I kept on looking at it, for fear of him getting out of it and looking for me, so that then I would be ready), the door opened. I looked at the door, expecting to see Holmes or Watson, but instead I saw… myself.  
>If it hadn't been for the fact that Holmes is three inches taller and a little bulkier, I would have sworn that I was looking in a mirror.<p>

"I agree it's not my best disguise, but let's hope it works." Holmes said. It felt so strange hearing Sherlock's voice coming out of… me. How can he be _this_ good at disguising?

"-How did you-?

-A wig with braids, a special mixture of eye-drops to dilate the pupils, a folded plaster to imitate the chin-scar, a mix of make-up powder and cream to hide the wrinkles and make myself look younger, a deformed shoe cut in several places painted gray to give the impression of a peg-leg, and one final touch- I hanged myself for about two seconds and Watson cut me down immediately in order for me to develop a noose-mark like yours, it'll fade in a few hours. Nothing too special.

-Holmes, are you really going to draw him out like this? Do you even know of the danger you're putting yourself in?

-You and Watson will stand by, don't worry this is what I do for a living." He then took a bottle from Watson's doctor bag and gulped down a dollop. I glanced to see what it was.

"-You're drinking medicinal alcohol!?

-Yes. Care for a drop?" he said casually.

He then began walking towards the locker, taking some more medicinal alcohol out of the bottle. Holmes then went straight in front of the locker and in less than a split-second a man dressed completely in black with his face concealed by a plain black mask jumped out of the locker with a dagger and swung it at Holmes disguised as myself. Holmes trapped his arm with both of his hands and he then spat alcohol over Samuel's eyes, making him yell and retract.  
>Holmes then kicks his hand and the dagger falls to the ground clattering. Holmes follows with a few quick jabs to his face and a body-shot.<br>Meanwhile, I charged towards them and I tackle Samuel to the ground. As I was sitting on top of him, he yells in surprise as he sees two of me. It was the last thing he had time to do before he became unconscious from my left haymaker.

He normally wouldn't have gone down from one punch, but the stunning effect of alcohol in the eyes, combined with the thrashing given by Holmes made him weaker. Holmes then removed Samuel's black mask to reveal a man no older than thirty with short, dark hair, a light moustache and a scar that ran from his left eye all of the way to the lip.

"I did that" said Holmes pointing to the long scar.

"-When I was being hunted down by Moriarty, he attacked me in one of my hiding places. I smashed a bottle of brandy over his face.

-Then how come he's still free?

-I ran out to tip off a constable, but by the time we got back, he was gone.

-What's happening? I thought I heard a scream?" I heard my mother asking while coming out of her room.

When she looked at us, her eyes just widened and held her mouth open in an 'O' shape, surprised beyond belief to see… two of me, not even looking at the knocked out assassin on the floor. Holmes then removed his wig, revealing his short, dark, laid back hair.

"-Hiccup! Holmes! What happened, why did you disguise yourself like my son, who is that man?

-Someone who I'm sure you'll agree is much better off in your holding cells." Said Holmes pulling out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and then cuffing Samuel from behind, who was already beginning to wake up and moan.

"Watson, escort him to the cells, Haddock call someone to guide him there. I shall interrogate him in the morning." Said Holmes.

Upon hearing Sherlock's voice, Samuel's head sprang up and looked at Holmes with hatred.

"-You! You bastard! You sly, clever, bastard! Even in here you can't leave me alone, you lousy Scotland Yard dog! What business have you got with these savages, anyway!?

-Good evening to you too, Mr. Crooke. I don't believe that we've met since you paid me a surprise visit to my secret residence in Buck's Row. I served you some pretty excellent brandy then, if my memory serves me right." Said Holmes with a mocking smile.

"-You bastard! You Scotland Yard puppet! I'll avenge Professor Moriarty, I'll mount your head on a spear!

-I believe that privilege belongs to me." Said Holmes who was still smiling.

I woke up Snotlout to escort Samuel to the holding cells. After that, Mom, Watson and I went into the sitting room while Holmes went into his own room, since we decided that we certainly wouldn't be able to sleep after this encounter.

"-Mom, where's Astrid?

-She went with Stormfly to circle the island.

-At this hour?

-Yeah, she says she's been feeling sick and needed some air.

-Should I consult her when she returns?" asked Watson.

"-That will not be necessary, doctor, if she really is sick, Gothi, our village elder and doctor, will take care of her.

-Very well, but if she does get serious, I shall insist on offering my care to her. Two doctors are better than one, always."

I was very moved by Watson's concern. I had no idea he cared so much. Mom continued the conversation:"-Dr. Watson, my son has read me some of your adventures.

-They're the adventures of me _and_ Holmes. In fact, I would be nothing but a retired soldier and doctor with a small interest in crime-busting, if it weren't for Holmes.

-Yes. But, I would like you to tell me something in detail if it doesn't mind you.

-Of course, Valka. Anything.

-About your friend's 'death'." I then noticed something in my mother's eyes. It was… hope. Hope that if Sherlock Holmes could escape death in that manner, then so could Dad. Watson's eyes widened briefly, but he quickly went back to his neutral posture.

"-Why?

-Just… curious. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-

-No, no, it's alright. I mean, he's alive and well now, so there's no more moping over his 'passing'.  
>Well, we were in Switzerland, going after Professor James Moriarty. Moriarty knew that his game was up, so he had dedicated all of his energy to take revenge on Sherlock Holmes for dismantling his criminal network. Holmes had told me that Moriarty's last words were for him: "I wanted to end the world, but I'll settle for ending yours!"<br>While we were visiting the Reichenbach Falls, I was summoned back to the hotel by a young man, who said that a woman was dying and insisted that she only wanted to be treated by a British doctor, so I left Holmes alone and rushed to the hotel. Upon arriving I discovered that there was no such thing, and that the man who had sent the lad was none other than Moriarty.  
>I ran back to the Falls as fast as my feet would carry me. I then discovered Holmes's cane and deerstalker cap resting on a rock. I called for my friend and looked everywhere for his tall, imposing silhouette. I then calmed down, and thought about using his methods.<br>I noticed a note near the deerstalker and cane.  
>It was his goodbye note."<p>

At this point, I saw that Watson was lowering his voice, and I'm sure that the only thing that was preventing him from truly being sad was the fact that Holmes was not dead.  
>Even after so many years since that fateful day, remembering the day his best friend left him and apparently died at the hands of a criminal (or <em>the<em> criminal, rather) filled him with sorrow. And it was to be three long years before Watson met best friend again… And during those three years, Watson had also lost his wife and child.  
>I confess that I had developed the utmost admiration for John Watson, one which almost matches the admiration I have for my parents or of Sherlock Holmes. First a professional athlete, then an army surgeon and soldier in India and later Afganistan where he was promoted all the way up to the rank of Captain and was decorated twice and was injured by a Jezail bullet, then a professional surgeon and general practitioner who saved countless lives, and of course, being the most trusted friend and confidant of Sherlock Holmes and helping the latter foil the vilest of criminal acts, and then, having to cope with, as Watson puts it 'losing three halves of himself'. Mom then broke the silence by asking Watson another question.<p>

"-But how did he fake his own death?

-After throwing Moriarty in the bottom of The Reichenbach Falls, he climbed the mountain's wall in order not to leave prints. He had deduced that there still were loose ends in Moriarty's criminal spider-web which needed to be tied up. And Moriarty's henchmen would have undoubtedly killed Holmes only days after his return to Baker Street. But if the world thought him to be dead…  
>A few weeks later I wrote, what I thought, was the final story of Sherlock Holmes. A short story which I had titled 'The Final Problem'. You can imagine my surprise when, the day after I had published the story in The Strand, there were people all over London who were wearing black bands, as if a good friend or relative had passed away. Everyone, from humble dockworkers to bankers from The City were mourning his passing, although most of them never met him.<br>I can tell you that I am not an emotional man. But I swear that I did my best not to cry at his funeral, a funeral with an empty grave. It was only a few times in my adult life in which I have actually cried: At Holmes's funeral, at Mary's funeral and I cried of happiness when I discovered that Holmes was alive.

-Yes, Dr. Watson, but… You never actually saw him falling into the pit?

-No.

-And you said they never found his body?

-Of course not! How could they find the body if he never died!?" said Watson. Mother sighed in defeat and sorrow.

"What is it, Valka?" asked Watson. Then he understood.

"-I'm sorry, Valka. Condolences. You hoped that if Holmes could escape death then…

-Yes, doctor. It's just not fair. How can life be so cruel? To show me my husband after twenty years, only to find out that I cannot be with him?

-Like I said back on the island, Valka, I felt the same too, when my dear Mary died." Watson then looked into nothingness with a dreamy look in his eyes, as if he was searching for his wife somewhere in the Chief's house. This state, however, only lasted a second.

"-I'm not going to say that it doesn't take time, and I never truly forgot Mary. You saw back there that I actually started crying. But, as the saying goes, time heals all wounds. While it's not entirely true, I can say that, two years after losing Mary, even though I… I still sometimes think of her… and sometimes I even think that I am seeing her on the street in a crowd, I've moved on.

-It's been months since… that. And yet almost every night I cry myself to sleep thinking about Stoick…"

We then heard a violin playing. It was Holmes, playing his Stradivarius. I recognized the piece as Bach, as during my time in London I had gone to a couple of concerts, and I have to say that I have never heard anything more soothing or more pleasant to the ear than the music from the St. James Hall.

"What's that? It sounds so beautiful…" asked mom.

"What do you mean what that is?" I asked with a half-smile. I then remembered that there was no way she could know; she's never seen, let alone heard a violin, there was no way.

"It must be Holmes playing his violin. It's a musical instrument, if you don't know, Valka. But I guess you couldn't know." Said Watson.

Mom then let out a gasp and looked to where the music was playing from. What was it? Then, as I listened to the music, I understood. This section of a song I didn't recognize sounded an awful lot like… 'For The Dancing and The Dreaming', the song my mother and father sang in The Sanctuary.  
>I rushed upstairs. I had to stop Holmes from playing it. I didn't to fall asleep listening to mom crying in her now empty bed, too large for just one… I flung open the door, and Holmes, who had now changed his disguise with a casual, but elegant shirt, vest and trousers, barely noticed me.<br>He just threw a glance at me and continued moving his hand in long, fluid motions. He seemed to be completely engrossed in the music, his eyes half-closed, moving them only to look at the notes on a stand.

The room already presented some Holmesian clutter: There were countless vials on the desk filled with colorful chemicals and there were some newspaper clippings nailed to the wall, not to mention an already choking smell of tobacco. The music was no longer like… the song of Mother and Father, as I came to call it. He was now playing something else.  
>His face was very different from the Holmes I had seen so far. His eyes were always filled with a certain vigor, a concentration, he had eyes which could either calm the most frightened, or terrify the strongest. You could always see the gears spinning behind those distant grey-green eyes. This time, however, he seemed to be enveloped in the world of sweet, gentle music, his right hand moving the bow, his left hand holding the instrument over his shoulder and plucking the chords. I sat there for at least five minutes, just listening. I had completely forgotten the reason why I had come into his room, not that it mattered, he wasn't playing… <em>that<em> anymore.

'_He's a good musician, too. Is there __anything__ that Holmes isn't a master at?'_ I wondered.  
>Watson would later tell me that Holmes had received several invitations to play in orchestras, but had always refused. The only time he ever played in public was at Watson's wedding. After a while he finally became aware of my presence and interrupted his solo with a horrible, ear-piercing, off-tune scrape.<p>

"Ah, Haddock, what brings you here?" he asked.

I really didn't want to confide to him that I actually wanted to stop him from playing. How ridiculous would I seem then?

"-I just wanted to thank you for… you know, saving my life. You took a very big risk, you know!

-It was nothing. I was much better suited for fighting Samuel than you were.

-Why is that?

-How long did it take me to put you down in that alleyway when I arrested you? Was it the full minute?

-Heh. I think it was less than ten seconds. Good point. Crooke's now locked up.

-I shall interrogate him first thing in the morning after breakfast.

-You mean beating him?" I asked somewhat shocked.

"Of course not!" he shouted with indignation.

"- I deplore using unnecessary violence. Every time I have interrogated someone, I did so peacefully.

-Yeah, sorry.

-No problem. It was a perfectly rational assumption. Oh, wait! Can you please show me the sketches for your fire-sword?

-Sure, why?

-I have attempted to make one myself, but I am having problems with controlling heat dispersion. The handle becomes hot only after a few seconds. Truly, an amazing invention, and such a weapon could be useful to me."

I felt a wave of pride as Holmes praised my work. Having such an intelligent man praising your work truly makes you proud. I then heard the front door opening and I went downstairs to see who it was. It was Astrid.

"-Astrid, what are you doing going out at this hour?

-I could also ask you why your knuckles are bruised and skinned!

-Oh, you know, I just nearly died at the hands of Samuel Crooke, England's most infamous assassin!" I said in my usual sarcastic tone. However, Astrid didn't seem to be amused in the slightest…

"Oh, gods! Hiccup! He attacked you? Oh and I wasn't there to help you…" she said, apology written all over her face.

"-It's alright, milady. I'm stronger than I look, and you know that. Although, in all honesty, Holmes was the one who put him down.

-Oh, I'm so selfish! You could have died because I wasn't there!

-Nah, milady. What, kill me? Please, I tamed The Unholy Offspring of Lightning And Death itself, almost singlehandedly defeated The Red Death, survived getting hit by lightning, got stuck in ice, defeated The Evil Alpha and Drago, Took part in London street fights, I killed Maul, one of the best fighters Drago had, and nearly got hanged. Yeah… I'd say I'm pretty much invincible."

I suddenly felt daggers of guilt going into my heart. I was now _proud_ of killing Maul? If I would have died in the noose I would have deserved it wholeheartedly. Not only have I committed murder, I was now _proud _of it?

"-Hiccup, what's wrong?

-Nothing…

-Hiccup, tell me, or I'll punch you again!

-Sigh… I'm… proud of killing Maul?

-Well, he deserved it!

-He wasn't Drago, Dagur or Alvin! I could have reasoned with him! I could have convinced him to join us. No, instead I…"

At this point, I felt my throat tightening. No, I cannot cry, I'm the Chief, dad never cried. Astrid embraces me in a bruising grip. Her tough shield-maiden façade always broke when she was with me.

"-Hiccup, stop it. It was you or him. You've got too big of a heart for your own good sometimes.

-Enough about this. Are you feeling better?

-Yeah, I was just a little dizzy. And Stormfly wasn't asleep, so…

-I understand. Let's go to bed, milady."

We went into the sitting room (I had rebuilt the Chief's house after the battle with Drago, so it was larger and with more rooms) and then we all decided to go to bed. The next morning, I woke up early.  
>It was one of those mornings in which you wake up, still extremely tired, but you can't go back to sleep.<br>Astrid, being a very light sleeper, woke up next to me as soon as she heard the bed creaking. After exchanging good mornings and a couple of kisses, she started speaking with concern:

"-Hiccup, you do know that Toothless is going to want to fly this morning, right?

-Yeah, milady… you fly him, I'm very busy this morning.

-Yeah… about that… I promised to take care of teaching the youths at the Academy, since you're too busy with… you know… being … no one else knows how to operate his tailfin."

I sighed in frustration. Even though Toothless had just gone on a flight yesterday, it was slow and he had to carry Holmes and two bags aside from me, so it didn't satisfy him. And no one else knew how to control his tailfin, so Toothless would be in a pretty dark mood today...  
>Wait, no one else knew except for…<p>

"-Wait, Astrid I've got an idea! This is going to work for everyone, it's win-win situation!

-We're both busy and Toothless can't fly on his own. And no one else knows how to control his tailfin. How is this a win-win?

-That's where you're wrong. He sat behind me the whole time and saw me operating it… And he sees, remembers and connects everything…

-Huh? Wait, are you suggesting that Mr. Holmes could…

-Yup!

-What makes you think that he will agree? That's not why he's here!

-Because he's interested in dragons! You saw that he was even writing what was basically his own Book of Dragons! What would help him understand them better than flying the fastest of them all, first hand? Plus, he's just my size. Well, he's a little bigger, but my flight gear should suit him just fine.

-That's… actually a pretty good idea!

-Every idea I have is good, milady.

-Good _and_ crazy." She said before giving me a quick kiss.

I went to Holmes's room and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" said Holmes from inside. Inside, he was in working out, currently doing some boxing moves in the air. Damn, was he good at it. He would have easily been able to fight four men twice his size at once. Unlike when he was playing his violin, he took note of my presence instantly.

"-Good morning, Haddock.

- Good morning, Holmes. Have you already questioned Samuel?

-Not yet. I'd like to finish my work out first. Care to join me?

-No, thanks. Instead, might I suggest an alternative morning exercise?" As I said this, I could feel a smile creeping up on my lips without my consent. Holmes seemed rather surprised.

"-Really? You trust me to fly your friend?

-How did you realize that I-

-Because I know that you must be very busy, therefore you hardly have time to fly your friend. Your wife is the only other person that knows how to operate his prosthetic. And I have overheard a conversation between two vikings outside in which they said that she will be teaching at the Academy this morning and afternoon, therefore she's busy as well.  
>And since you know me and my methods, you figured out that I've observed you operating the pedal mechanism. And, yes, I've remembered all the positions for ascending, descending, speeding up, slowing down and landing. There was but only one position which you did not use, which, I suppose is used for maximum speed. Even so, flying him should be quite elementary.<p>

-So… is that a yes?

-Of course! My monograph about dragons would be incomplete without me experiencing a faster flight first hand. Besides, this will give me a better view of the archipelago, I'll use this opportunity to do some scouting, which in turn will help with the investigation.

-Thank you, Holmes, you're a lifesaver!

-No, I thank you, Haddock." He said smiling.

"-Oh and Haddock, please give me your flight gear and mask.

-Sure, why?

-If your… ex-brother or Alvin sets eyes on me, he'll think I'm you.

-That won't happen, Holmes, unless you actually go to them!

-Exactly." He said with the tiniest of smiles.

"Holmes, don't you dare put Toothless in danger with Dagur or Alvin!" I said more threateningly than I had intended.

"I won't. But you said yourself that you were captured on several occasions while going on routine flights, and I cannot let them know that I'm working with you, not to mention that Drago already knows how I look like. Since this is your case, you must understand that I must do some scouting, make progress in the case, figure out if there is an alliance between the three chiefs. I give you my word that if anything does go wrong, Toothless will be safe." He said reassuringly.  
>After a while, Holmes came out of his room in my flight gear and mask. The only thing which would have made one realize that he was not me was the fact that his left foot was there, but even then it was possible for me to wear shoes, so it wasn't that big of a giveaway.<br>That, and the fact that he was six foot four inches tall.

"-Holmes, please don't take too many risks. I don't want Toothless to get captured just because you wanted to learn more about the Outcasts, Berserkers or Drago's Trappers!

-Don't worry, I should be surprised if anything of this sort happens. I'll just take some documents and leave, hopefully unseen. With new evidence in hand, I might be able to make Samuel talk. No worries, there's not a prison in the world that can hold me for more than two hours. Even so, don't worry, I am… prepared."  
>As he said this, he took a revolver from the back of his trousers just enough to show it to me and then stuffed it back. As much as I hated to admit it, Holmes was right. He had to make progress in the case, and this was his best opportunity. He wasn't here on holiday after all, he was here to help. Besides, if there was one thing I knew about Holmes is that he is devilishly clever.<br>As a precaution, he gave me his deerstalker, so that if he doesn't return by noon, I should give it to one of the trackers to find him.  
>I showed Holmes every in and out of operating the prosthetic, but most of the time he showed me that he already deduced how it works.<br>He even deduced how the gliding worked with the flight gear.

Even though Toothless was upset that I was not the one to ride him, he was happy that he was going to fly at all. As Holmes was mounting Toothless, I still had second thoughts about this.

"-Holmes, please be careful.

-I should remind you that I have survived worse. And in the unlikely scenario that I do get captured, be sure to take Watson along.

-Take my map.

-That will be neither useful nor necessary. I've memorized it.

-I should show you again how to operate the mechanism.

-I've already made a mental map of how it works. I now know how to operate it just as well as you do.

-I doubt it. Don't you want anyone else to come with you?

-No. First of all, I wish to keep a low profile, which is nearly impossible with too many companions. Second, I wish to reach maximum speed on Toothless, and this can only be achieved with a single rider. Now, I believe your uncle is waiting for you at the Great Hall."

I still had my doubts. As important as my duties were, especially today, as we were trying to figure out Berserker and Outcast troop movements, as well as whether they are both employed by Drago.  
>Alvin and Dagur hated each other with a passion, therefore it was unlikely, albeit it still was a possibility that Drago kept it a secret from Dagur that he has also allied with Alvin and vice-versa. But, wait. Sherlock Holmes will soon sort this all out anyway… Of course, I was being stupid. How can I expect him to help without putting himself in danger? Holmes would not let anything happen to Toothless, I reassured myself. If Sherlock Holmes could defeat Moriarty, then he can most certainly handle a minor covert operation… Holmes is the smartest man I've met. <em>Nothing<em> can go wrong. Especially since he has Toothless with him. Wait,… what if… no, he won't let _anything_ happen to Toothless.

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><p><em>Ho, boy! Finally, I was able to update!<em>

_Sorry, I really wanted to add more to this chapter, but decided to upload this and leave the rest for the next chapter._

_I've got LOADS of ideas, but requests of what you would like to see happening in the story are more than welcome!_

_Once again, sorry if this was not my best chapter, but I wanted to update now, when I had time, so it was kinda rushed._

_Special shoutout to NightsAnger, be sure to check out his HTTYD fic, 'In Darkness' ;)_

_Shoutout to silverwolvesarecool for following my story since the beginning!_


	19. Chapter 18- Of Dragons And Detectives

_**Author's note:**_

_**Hi guys! I am SO, SO Sorry for not updating in nearly two months! *gives virtual apology cookies*  
><strong>_

_**I've been so busy with school I hardly even had time to THINK about writing! 11th grade sucks :(**_

_**Also, Holmes is kind of OOC here, (gets all touchy-feely) and I wanted to make this chapter longer, but I just couldn't bear with making my beautiful wonderful fans waiting much longer ;)**_

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><p><span><em><strong>Holmes's POV<strong>_:

I have to admit that while I most certainly wasn't showing it, I was just as amazed by this new world as Watson was. The idea that I was riding a dragon was, for the lack of a better word, unbelievable, amazing, beyond my wildest dreams and imagination.

And the fact that said dragons were capable of genuine human emotion was just as, if not more amazing. Twenty-three years as a consulting detective I had thought that I've seen it all. Even more so after the terrifying case of "The Awakened".  
>I confess that I had more admiration for Toothless than I had for many actual humans. To go through the things that the poor dragon went through… To be forced to kill someone you love against your will, to have to drag along that memory, I could not imagine how I would be able to live with myself had I ever known that someone dear to me was dead because of my actions. The willpower this beast had was enormous. To be able to break out of mind control simply because you wished not to hurt anyone else…<p>

But, I had to think about this later. Right now, I was getting used to flying Toothless. While controlling the pedal-tailfin mechanism was relatively simple, the sheer speed and height was overwhelming. When I first rode him, he went slow, so slow that I was even able to smoke a pipe. But now, I had insisted that he went fast. I would have certainly been panicking the whole way if it hadn't been for the fact that my mind was reassuring me constantly that there was nothing to fear.

I was strapped onto him, he was doing most of the flying, I knew how to operate the pedal perfectly, and I had stored Haddock's excellent map into my Mind Palace. The 'Mind Palace' is a memory technique, you remember data by picturing it in your mind. If you do it properly, you can never forget anything. Obviously, the Mind Palace is much more than that, but I would be dragging on way too much if I were to start explaining it now.

I had thought that while I was on top of that express train during the Moriarty case*, I had experienced the pinnacle of speed. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was quite simply, blindingly fast. I think we even came close to breaking the sound barrier a few times! I was certainly glad that I hadn't eaten anything before leaving, otherwise I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to keep it down!

As much as I enjoyed flying, I had to eventually stop and take a break. I had thought myself to be more endurant, but even I have my limits. And apparently, flying dragons at a speed which put an express train to shame was that limit. We landed on a very small island, barely three hundred yards across, yet surprisingly it did have a lot vegetation. I had deduced that Haddock had found it before me, because I did remember an island on his formidable map that was this shape on approximately this location of the map.

Judging by marks on the sand, or rather the lack of them, there haven't been any boats docking here for at least a month. However, some cleared out grass indicated that this was a common resting place for travelling dragons, particularly Nadders, judging by the faint claw-marks. Despite the fact that my time with dragons had been but a short interlude, I had observed the characteristics of the ones I came into contact with. I got off, slightly dizzy, but having a superior intellect allows one to quickly find their footing, even when confused. This way, I had been able during numerous times in my career to recover from punches quicker, ignore pain and even recover from unconsciousness.

I took my own pulse and deduced that it was easily at least one hundred and fifty beats per minute! I stretched up to my full height the moment I touch the ground.

"I'm glad to stretch! It's no joke when a tall man needs to lean forward for half an hour on end, Toothless!" I said.

He seemed to be quite content. After all, he did seem to like me. Perhaps because I resembled Haddock in many ways, so much so that I was able to disguise myself as him and fit into his flight gear fairly easily (even though it was a little tight, even for my unusually thin frame). I sat down on a rock and thought about my next step while lighting a pipe (which was fairly difficult, for my hands were shaking).  
>Toothless nuzzled me from the side and I involuntarily recoiled. I really wasn't the one for physical contact. Though I did sometimes place my hand on the shoulder of someone in need of calming, that was about as much as physical affection went for me. At me recoiling he looked confused and somewhat sad.<p>

"I'm sorry, Toothless, but now I just have to concentrate." With this said, I pursed my lips around the pipe, put my hands together underneath my chin, closed my eyes and retreated into my Mind Palace.  
>Right, so the plan was to find a ship or a small camp belonging to the Berserkers, Outcasts or the Trappers, and take any information that they have in the form of letters, maps and other documents. It might involve me having to get intentionally captured, but that shouldn't be a problem, I had slipped a lockpick into my left shoe and the guards would be easily outsmarted by me and Toothless. I truly hoped that if my disguise worked last night, it would also work today.<p>

I would hopefully be found by lieutenants of Dagur, Drago or Alvin, who have never seen Haddock before, otherwise, they would be able to tell that I am not him. Even then, while I did look a lot like him, I was not twenty, but forty-two, therefore I hoped that the cream-mask would hide my wrinkles well enough, should I have to remove Haddock's leather mask. And should I get into a confrontation, I did not worry, I had observed the general fighting style of the people around the Archipelago, therefore I would be able to form a plan of attack and incapacitate them fairly easily. And even then, I had my gun.

My trip into my Mind Palace was interrupted by the feeling of something large, wet and sticky going all the way across my left cheek. Toothless had just licked me.

"Don't do that!" I said almost yelling while pulling my handkerchief from my back-pocket.

"I need to concentrate, Toothless. Face the other way!" I delved back into my Mind Palace, oblivious to Toothless and the fact that he sorrowfully moved away from me. It was about eight in the morning, more than enough time to get information from a Berserker ship, and return before noon. I would find a ship with a small crew, get any documents and evidence from it, and leave. It would have to involve me and Toothless getting temporarily captured, undoubtedly. However, I had gotten captured on purpose before. During the case of "The Awakened", I had purposefully let myself get imprisoned into the Edelweiss Asylum in order to collect information.  
>That asylum was infamous because of a number of failed escape attempts. If I was able to collect documents and evidence and escape Edelweiss in less than two hours, then a small Berserker ship with just a few men on board shouldn't prove a problem.<p>

This reminded me of what, or rather _whom_ I had found in Edelweiss Asylum. Few things can give me shivers down my spine. But seeing _him _in a cell in Edelweiss after I thought I had killed him… Nothing shocked me more. What if… no, he had lost his mind, the fall had made _him _lose his memory as well as most of his mental faculties. He shall be locked up in that asylum for the rest of his life… I never told anyone that I had found _him_ still alive in Edelweiss, not even Watson.

It was for the best.  
><em><br>He_ couldn't return. Could he? I fear no man. Except for _him._ Even in his vegetable state, the thought of that bloody demon being alive gave me shivers down my spine. He was little more than a vegetable now, so he might as well be dead, it didn't matter, right? Oh, how I wish I could have believed that… I squeeze my eyes shut, trying my best not to think about _him _anymore. He still was in the asylum. His once brilliant and evil mind that rivaled my own was now incapable of even the simplest tasks.

Was it?

I had calculated that at this time, there had to be a small Berserker ship patrolling a few miles to the south. There had to be some information on board.

"Right, Toothless, we have to go." I said as I put out my pipe.

"Toothless?" I couldn't see him. I mentally kicked myself for being so grouchy with him. He didn't deserve it, he was merely showing his affection, something which I should have quickly appreciated considering that he was quick to trust me.  
>My throat went dry and my mouth tasted of bitter regret. My insides twisted with disgust at my own actions.<p>

How could have I been so horribly insensitive to my client's dearest friend!? I set off to find him, not thinking of what I would say to him. What _could _I say to him after treating him like… that! It didn't take long for me to find him. The island was small, and he had left prints. He was on the other side of the island, on the edge of a cliff, looking at _seemingly_ nothing.

Keyword: Seemingly.

What Toothless couldn't say in words, he more than made up for it with his facial expressions and forest green eyes the size of saucers. I quickly recognized his posture as sadness, and I felt like striking myself. How could have I been so cruel to him? He had done nothing to deserve such behavior from me! But, alas it was more than just sadness. It was the expression that I had seen when I had asked Haddock how his father had died.

_Guilt._

Why would he feel guilty for my own execrable behavior? But then I understood…  
>He wasn't looking at nothing. He was looking at… the remains of the Sanctuary. I had seen it's position on the map and he was looking exactly in that direction. Even with my incredibly perceptive eyes, trained over the course of decades to spot even the smallest details and to miss nothing, I couldn't see it from where Toothless was at, but he most certainly did see it, the dragons' vision is most certainly more advanced than humans', especially Toothless, since he had eyes that were the size of three of my fists. Upon seeing The Sanctuary again, he must have remembered it all…<p>

What he did while being controlled… Haddock had told me that when he flies with Toothless he always tries to steer clear of the Sanctuary, because seeing it makes Toothless feel terrible. I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say after rejecting him in such a manner? Not to mention that I'm not exactly the most considerate person in the world.

"I… I'm sorry, Toothless… I shouldn't have talked like that to you..."

He looked at me briefly with an expression in his eyes which was, for the lack of a better description, full of guilt and self-hate. Right now he didn't care about my abominable behavior, but of what he did _there._ In his own mind, he thought that he nearly killed Haddock and then killed his father simply because The Alpha had told him to. He could remember everything he did while being controlled: The way his master _begged_ for him to stop, the way he tried to kill his own master, his best friend, and then killed his father. And that he then accepted to be ridden by Drago Bludvist and assisted him in the Siege of Berk…

And he thought in his own mind, that all that time he could have snapped out of it. And thus, he blamed himself. But it wasn't his fault, of course. Haddock had told me all of these details. Now he was recalling what he did, and it was all my fault…  
>When he remembered that dreadful day (which was nearly every day after waking up from a nightmare, which cruelly showed him what he did again), he always had Haddock to pick him back up and tell him that it wasn't his fault, and that he was forgiven.<br>Now I had to fill that role.  
>Watson always said that I was good at comforting people, but this was different. Right now, for him, I was the worst possible comforter possible, but I still had to try. I grabbed his head and forced him to look at me while I was thinking about my exact choice of words while a muttering a rare prayer to the Lord for guidance.<p>

"Toothless, it wasn 't your fault. Nobody blames you for it. You have to believe that, and forgive yourself, or you'll _never_ put it behind you."

In response he just cooed weakly and looked downwards in shame. I had to understand he felt guilty. After all, how couldn't he?

"It wasn't you who killed him. It wasn't even The Dark Bewilderbeast. It was that… that demon, Drago. You have no right to blame yourself. And I am sorry for rejecting you like that, my dear fellow."

That was the first time I ever called anyone that wasn't Watson 'my dear fellow'.  
>He then smiled his signature gummy smile, yet he was still looking slightly ashamed of himself.<p>

"It wasn't your fault. You actually managed to break free from control, Hiccup told me that. You are the first dragon that's ever managed that, and it's only because of how much you didn't want to hurt Hiccup. You as a dragon have more heart than most humans on this Earth."

Although I did refer to my client by his family name, I used his… rather embarrassing first name, so that the dragon knew whom I was talking about. I wasn't one for comforting for no good reason, but telling Toothless all this felt good. Mainly because there was a good reason.

"Stop looking over there. It's for the best." I said. After a few more seconds of long stares with eyes that expressed regret and self-hate more than a thousand words could express, he listened to me.  
>He was still looking downwards in shame and cooed a sound which I could only describe as crying. I placed a hand on his forehead and looked at him straight in the eye, once again amazed by those two huge green wells that evoked more emotion and guilt than a thousand words. This was more physical contact than I was accustomed to, but the poor being needed comfort, and I was more than willing to provide it.<p>

"My dear fellow. Nobody blames you. It wasn't you. You risked your life to save your friends on more occasions than anyone ever could. You saved more lives than I or anyone else could ever hope to save. Toothless, I am a man of science, and as a man of science I am not one for empty words and senseless pep-talking. I am a man who values cold, hard data. I'm a man who doesn't value empty words and emotions, regardless of how sincere they are. I value clear evidence that a hypothesis is true.  
>And you've proven yourself, with irrefutable evidence to be more human than most people I know. And trust me on this, Toothless, because I never say anything just to say it. And once again, I'm sorry."<p>

Saying things from my detective point of view rather than a comforter's point of view seemed to work as he instantly looked at me with so much joy that I couldn't help but smile. He then made a sound which sounded like laughing. The meaning of that was revealed in just the next second.

He tackled me to the ground. The fact that the move was unexpected, and the fact that he weighs nearly ten times more than I do meant that I fell immediatly and that he pinned me with no hope of escaping. I fell on my revolver which meant that my lower back was now in agony, for the revolver rammed itself into it. Instinctively, I grab his paw and try to escape, but to no avail: Baritsu and other Japanese wrestling techniques may have saved my life on more occasions than I care to recall, but they don't work particularly well when your opponent is about ten times your strength.

"What are you doing, Toothless!? Get off me!" I yelled, somewhat panicked, something which I only very seldom am. He just laughed and kept on looking at me with amusement. There really was nothing to worry about, I said to myself. He's just playing.  
>I once had a dog, a large Irish Settler, as a child called Redbeard, whom I always adored since I had never really been particularly close to my brother, so I spent all my time with Redbeard. When Redbeard got sick and had to be put down… I never forgot that moment.<p>

It may seem strange, but I still think about him today. How on earth had the death of a dog affected me so much? The way Toothless pinned me and gently cooed reminded me so much of Redbeard…  
>Uh oh, but it was usually at this point during playtime that Redbeard, dogs, or any other animal would start to… Before I can try to break free again, I feel Toothless licking my chin once.<br>Alright, this wasn't as bad as I had thought it would turn-

Before I can even finish that thought, Toothless starts licking me, quite literally, from head to toe faster than I can even realize it, struggling to make every lick faster than the previous.

"Ach! What are you… Stop! Bloody Hell!" I yelled.

After exactly seventeen seconds and a half of this, he steps off and looks at me smiling his gummy smile while laughing (or something which sounded like laughing). I was a mess. But, then again this was merely the dragon's way of showing affection, and I saw how much the poor being was affected when I cruelly rejected him. Besides, as a child, the same thing happened whenever I would play with Redbeard. (albeit, far less messy)  
>Getting angry would be not only cruel, but also illogical and hypocritical.<p>

Instead I smile, not because I didn't want to get angry, or because I forced myself to, but because I truly felt the honest-to-God need to smile at the beast (and I use the word 'beast' very loosely) who has already accepted me as a friend and as a companion.

"Well, my dear fellow, I can think of one good thing: these garments are not mine!" I said.  
>He laughs even more as I take out my handkerchief and futilely try to dry myself. The small fabric of cloth, only about six inches in diameter could only do so much against the equivalent of having a bucket of warm water poured over you. (Or rather, a sticky warm substance which smelled strongly of fish)<br>At this point, Watson must certainly be having as much 'fun' as I am right now. I chuckle as I think of Watson getting his expensive grey suit damp from licks while getting to know the remarkable creatures. Watson could be a very affectionate man, he also was a bit of an animal lover, therefore Watson getting the life licked out of him was undoubtedly the truth of what was happening to him right now.

Right, enough playing around, it was now time to get to work. I took my binoculars out of Toothless' saddle bag and started looking around at the ocean. Aha! There! A small sized wooden ship, Berserker, no dount, ought to have some information aboard. Only about ten to twelve men on board, all of them looking very young and unexperienced, and save for the fact that each of them was reasonably bulky, none of them seemed very threatening or particularly difficult to incapacitate.  
>There was a bola-thrower onboard, perfect! Me and Toothless would get captured on purpose, and then I'd easily escape, incapacitate the men one by one, get the captain's journal and any other information-containing document.<p>

"Toothless, my dear fellow, we shall have to get ourselves in a spot of trouble, I'm afraid. We shall have to get captured by those men." I said pointing to the ship which without the binoculars looked like just a brown smudge on the horizon.  
>Toothless shot up like I had just shocked him with one of Nikola Tesla's latest inventions and he made a high-pitched cooing sound which was undoubtedly his way of saying '<em>Are you crazy!?'<em>

"My dear fellow, you do wish to stop Drago and the others from fulfilling their sinister plans, do you?" He looked at me skeptically, his green eyes scanning me like I was some sort of threat, but eventually managed a quick nod.

"Shall we go? Don't worry, I am an escape artist. I have been captured numerous times in the past. I have always been able to escape in less than three hours. " He cast me another disapproving glance.

"Is that a yes or no, my dear Toothless?" Same emotionless glance. I then thought of using the same words that I have told Watson so many years ago during the case of "The Man With The Twisted Lip" under wildly different circumstances. I smiled as wildly as I could and said:

"You have the grand gift of silence, Toothless. It makes you quite invaluable as a companion!" I added the slightest and softest hint of mockery to the last part while still smiling widely.

*_**THWACK**_!*

Lying on the ground, for a while, all I can see are stars, and it takes me a moment to realize that Toothless had just whacked me with his tail. Hard.  
>Well… it appears that not everyone is as patient as Watson. I got up. The fall was actually more painful than the blow. Toothless looked at me with what I'm sure Watson as a writer would describe as 'a most upset piercing green gaze' I smile and say:<p>

"My dear fellow, I only said that as a compliment." He changes his look from anger to skepticism. I still was amazed at just how human dragons could be. I smile wider and say

"Yes, it is indeed a gift for a companion: they cannot argue with your plan, no matter how ludicrous it is! Ha ha!" This time he tackles me to the ground. However this time, it was different. It wasn't the same friendly-playful tackle. He tackled me so hard that I'm sure I almost broke something. He put his claws around my neck, as if ready to rip it out at any minute, while looking at me with much more anger than I thought him capable. I am ashamed to admit, but I was frightened.

I remembered what I had once said to an egoistical ruffian who boasted that he'd '_beat me until I had begged for mercy twice.' _I responded swiftly that I never begged for mercy in my life, just before knocking him out with a single, well calculated right hook to a pressure point. But now begging really seemed like a reasonable option.

"I'm sorry!" I yelled. Wait a minute, _yelled_? Since when am I so frightened, so incapable of hiding my emotions? Toothless just keeps on piercing me with that green gaze while tightening his grip, and I admit, at this point I was scared out of my wits (or as close to being scared as I could possibly be).  
>Words cannot tell what relief I felt when he got off me. I get up quickly and look at him, ready to dodge or pull out my revolver, my mind no longer being the cold, hard, accurate instrument it usually is. He was rolling on the ground laughing.<p>

It became clear to me that he wasn't nearly as upset as he had pretended to be, and just wanted to see me squirm. A mixture of amusement and anger flooded my face.

"Oh, you little, cunning, clever…" Before I could finish, he cocked his tail as if ready to smack me again, but he was still smiling as widely as possible. He had just made me _panic. _I had never panicked in my life. Not from such trifles, anyhow. First he makes me become sympathetic, now frightened, all within mere hours of interacting with him. What a remarkable, wonderful being he is, I thought. But now, it was time to get to work. I called Toothless to a pond, and pulled out my Haddock disguise out of his saddle bag. While I was wearing his gear, I needed to make myself look like him.

"You're going to love this, my dear fellow." I said smiling widely. I grabbed the cream-mixture and applied it to my face. After two minutes, it dried, and I looked twenty years younger. Toothless didn't get it.

I took the eyedrops that dilate pupils and applied them to my eyes. Now my eyes were rather wide, much like Haddock's. Chocking myself to get a neck-mark was unnecessary, the fact that I had hanged myself last night for two seconds had more of a satisfactory effect than I had anticipated, there still was a very bright red trace along my neck. Toothless still didn't get it and continued looking at me, confusion and curiosity mingled on his features.

I took a flesh colored plaster and carefully glued it under my chin to give the impression of an old scar. I took off my left shoe, and put on a special grey shoe cut into a certain shape which I had created last night in order to give the impression that I was wearing a prosthesis. Only when I put on my braided wig did Toothless realize that I was disguising myself as his master (though 'best friend' might be a better definition for the relationship between Haddock and Toothless) and he smiled widely, revealing his gums which were containing his sheathed teeth.

"Don't lick me." I warned.

"You might affect the disguise." I said using reason and logic.

I looked into the pond and was surprised myself at how much I looked like my client, but then again I had already done this the night before and the effect was more than satisfactory.

"Right then, my dear fellow. The plan is that we get captured on purpose, I shall easily escape my cell and stealthily incapacitate the guards, one by one. The captain's journal ought to have vital information. There is a bola-thrower onboard. I shall make it look like I've lost balance and fell off you and you will save me. This disguise is more than adequate to make them think that I am your friend. I suspect that all this won't take more than approximately… twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds." I said as my mind finished it's rough approximation of getting captured, picking a simple lock, knocking out a few guards stealthily, locating the captain's log book, recovering my revolver, possibly a confrontation and then picking the locks on Toothless' chains and fly away Toothless continued to look at me like I was crazy.

"My dear fellow, your rider has had ideas that were just as crazy and infinitely less thought-out. Unlike most of his plans, this one has allowed for any eventuality."

_***THWACK***_

He hit me with his tail yet again. That's it, I'd certainly need Watson's medical expertise once I return. The Night Fury was undoubtedly upset at me insulting his owner.

"Toothless, I didn't mean that your friend is stupid! Quite the contrary in fact, he is one of the brightest fellows I've ever met! He is blessed with an amazing intellect! And it's hardly my fault that I'm blessed with an even keener intellect! Oh, no, not aga-!"

He swings his tail at me yet again. This time, I dodge.  
>Before I have time to mock him for his miss, he trips me over and I fall.<p>

I am a man who does not easily admire someone else.  
>But I have to admit, Toothless is quite exceptional, from whatever point of view you may look at him.<br>Yes, aside from Watson, he is the only one who has won my admiration only within a few short days.

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><p><em>I am so SO sorry that this chapter wasn't worth the wait! I wanted to upload <span>something<span>!_

A_nd I know I made Holmes and Toothless REALLY OOC, but I hardly had time for writing (I only started this a week before) and I couldn't bear with making you guys wait any longer!_

_In case you don't know:_

_"Sherlock Holmes: The Awakened"_

_is a puzzle adventure game with one of the best plots EVER! Without spoiling anything, I'll just say that it also has some paranormal stuff happening, which is why Holmes and Watson weren't very surprised by dragons._

_Redbeard was Sherlock's childhood dog in BBC Sherlock, and I liked him so much I decided to also put him in here._

_Ugh, I REALLY don't like how this chapter played out. Or maybe I'm just being to hard on myself..._

_BUT, spring break is coming and I'll (hopefully) be able to update more often and make chapters that are better thought out. Sorry! :/_

_I'll most likely end up rewriting this chapter. *sigh* (mutters) Wow this really was the worst chapter yet._

_Next time, do you want me to get straight to Holmes getting on with his plan, or have a pinch at what Watson's doing?_


	20. Chapter 19-Of Dragons And Doctors

_**Author's note:**_ **_Hello. Sorry it took me once again this long to update. I had tech problems and a very nasty flu. I really wanted to make this chapter with both Watson and Holmes' POV, but I decided that I had already made the chapter long enough, and that I've kept my wonderful fans waiting for way too long._**

_**Watson's POV**_: The phrase 'an average day' had taken an entirely new meaning for me since the very day that I had begun lodging with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Since that fateful day, an average day usually meant chasing after criminals across London, or at least having to put up with him doing dangerous chemical experiments indoors and shooting guns or playing the violin at three in the morning.  
>After nearly fifteen years (minus the years of his 'death') since I have known the world's only Consulting Detective I had thought that I had seen every single adventure and incredible thing that a man could have ever had.<p>

As a man who had been a professional rugby player, boxer and fencer in his youth, an army doctor in the scorching countries of India and Afganistan, a surgeon and general practitioner in the busy part of London, and of course, all of the incredible adventures which I have had with Sherlock Holmes for much of my adult life, anyone can understand that until a few days before I had thought that I've seen them all.  
>But I suppose that even though I am a man used to the incredible and who always expects the unexpectable, one will be able to forgive me that when I woke up in my room in Haddock's house, I had thought for a second that all of the events of the past few days was nothing but a dream.<p>

Ha! And what a strange, vivid dream it was! Wait, this is not my room in Baker Street, it's… wait so that dream was true, no it is impossible!  
>My pocket-watch was on the bedside table, I look at it, eight AM sharp, my usual wake-up hour.<br>I opened the window and stuck my head out into the frigid air. Everything I see points to the fact that either the dream was real or that I am still dreaming. There were some Terrible Terrors flying around and chirping happily, as well as some larger dragons walking or flying around. Wait, what? I close the window shutters with a swift move, close my eyes and breathe a bit too heavily. I had my fair share of strange dreams. But this was… vivid. Right, this had to be a dream! I slap myself. Right now I felt pain, so it had to be real.  
>Now that I thought about it, while I certainly haven't been through anything stranger, it was preferable to most of what Holmes puts me through.<p>

Holmes is right, I am a man built for the extreme.  
>Addicted to a certain lifestyle.<br>My whole life, I've been a man seeking adventure. Even after settling down as a doctor, I took every opportunity I had to help Holmes on a case. Even after having more near-death experiences than I could recall with Holmes, I still go with him whenever he requests my assistance. Even during my marriage, I helped Holmes whenever I could.  
>After Holmes was presumed dead, Inspector Lestrade hired me to become a police surgeon. This allowed me to still maintain a keen interest in criminal matters, and I can boast that I've been of vital assistance to Scotland Yard and that my duty to the police was sometimes more than just doing post mortems and providing first aid to police constables.<br>As someone who is a very skilled marksman and fighter, and who actually has some deductive skill, I can safely say that there are many cases which Lestrade wouldn't have closed had it not been for my assistance, even without Holmes.  
>And I suppose that getting myself in a land of dragons and Vikings is the pinnacle of my adventurous and reckless lifestyle. At last, I persuade myself that it's not a dream.<p>

Fortunately, Valka seemed to have left a basin of water in my room, therefore I was able to take care of some personal hygiene before getting dressed and setting off downstairs. I was wondering what Holmes was doing. He was most likely interrogating Samuel at this point. My friend always had the habit of waking up before me, I'd probably meet him downstairs, I thought. I still marveled at just how different this… place was from anywhere else I've ever been. I remembered that I had felt about the same when I first arrived in India and later Afganistan as a young soldier. But this was… unbelievable.  
>I genuinely felt like the protagonist of a Jules Verne novel. There were of course, other times in which I felt like this, but never before as much as now.<p>

As soon as I enter the sitting room I notice Valka sitting on the wool sofa. The sitting room was arranged much like an ordinary sitting room, with a sofa in front of a fireplace and a rug made out of what looked suspiciously like wolf hide. But then again, it was _entirely_ different than an ordinary sitting room…

"Good morning." I greeted.

"-Ah, good morning, Doctor! Hiccup is out doing chief duties and Astrid is teaching the youths at The Academy, and Mr. Holmes is out. Would you like some breakfast?

-If it wouldn't be too much trouble.

-Certainly, I was just about to make it, anyway. Oh, and I would like to apologize in advance.

-Why is that?

-I'm… not the best cook in the world." She said with an apologetic chuckle.

"My dear Madam, I'm an old campaigner. And even if I weren't, I am sure that you are only being hard on yourself." I said smiling reassuringly.

The scrambled eggs really weren't as bad as she made them out to be. In fact, even though I was for years used to Mrs. Hudson's delicious cooking, they were more than alright. As we ate in silence, my thoughts once again turned to Holmes. Valka had told me that Holmes had '_gone out_' but nothing more...

"-You said that Holmes went out?

-Yes." She said dismissively. I hadn't lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing; her face clearly betrayed that she was hiding something about Holmes.

"-Would like some tea, Doctor?" she said quickly and nervously.

-Where exactly did he go out?" I asked trying not to sound too threatning. I knew that if something serious had happened to Holmes, she'd have told me immediately. Perhaps one may call me a fool for trusting complete strangers so quickly, but I had a feeling in my gut since the moment I set eyes on Berk that everyone in there was to be trusted, despite all their… differences from the 'civilized' world.  
>Besides, nothing could happen to Holmes. He is the wisest man whom I have ever known, and he is more cunning than a pack of foxes; if danger would be his way, Holmes would be able to detect it while it's still miles away.<br>And even if Holmes did get in danger, he could hold his own in a fight. Well actually that's an understatement, as Holmes is the most skilled fighter I've ever seen, and despite his leanness, he is as strong as a bull.

"-Well, he…

-Valka, whatever he's done, I can assure you it won't shock me. After fifteen years of knowing him I'm used to his eccentric behavior. What has he done?

-It was my son's idea…

-What?

-Your friend… went flying on Toothless." She said bluntly.

I nearly choked on my eggs in surprise, yet I compose myself and I think of why the deuce Holmes would do such a thing!?

"It was my son's idea!" Valka spat out quickly as soon as she sees my (most likely) shocked expression.

"What for?" I ask.

"-Someone needed to fly him, and your friend quickly volunteered. He even took Hiccup's flight gear so he could fly at top speed.

-Oh, Holmes, what did you get yourself into?" I mumble to no one in particular, placing my palm over my face. I knew that Holmes had flown on Toothless during our trip to Berk, but he was going slow at that point (well, slow for dragon standards) and I saw just how fast Toothless could fly when Haddock and his wife had first departed on him when Holmes and I found them in the woods; It was only a few moments before I couldn't see them anymore! But I also doubted that Holmes did this out of kindness of the heart. Maybe it was because he wanted to learn more about dragons and wished to further complete his monograph. I quickly dismiss that thought: In a case on this scale, time was of the essence, and Holmes wouldn't wish to waste an entire morning just for scientific research, regardless of how gripping it is. Then it hits me:

He went scouting around the islands, most likely to collect information about Drago and Dagur and see if they are in an alliance of sorts. One problem: He'll be putting himself and Toothless in immense danger. But then again, that's what Holmes does on a daily basis. I knew that at this point it would be impossible for me to stop Holmes from going along with this plan on his own, but I had to at least make sure that he is prepared.

"Excuse me" I say as I rush to Holmes' room upstairs. Since I had helped him with his disguise last night I had seen where he put his revolver. I hoped that my friend had at least had the common sense to take his weapon. Since I am a former soldier and even my civilian life has always been far from safe, I always carried my gun. However, Holmes very often went unarmed. When he was around London or anywhere else, it didn't matter much; I always had my gun and I was by his side. But now, while he did have Toothless by his side, I knew that my mind would be far more at ease if I knew that he was armed in these circumstances.

I open the door to his room (which already reeked of tobacco and chemicals). Last night he left his revolver on the bedside table. In it's place I find a note in Holmes' handwriting.

"_Worry not, my old fellow, I took my revolver, please do cease to strain your eyes by looking for it around my room. And even so, what need have I for a pistol when I have a living cannon guarding me? Pray don't gamble too much on dragon racing- SH_"

I chuckle a bit too hard while reading his note. Holmes knew my habits exactly… He probably also deduced that I had went to attend dragon racing yesterday, and because of that I know had a small purse of Viking coins which I knew I wouldn't be able to use once I returned to England. Why on Earth had I not thought of that before I gave some genuine silver sovereigns to gamble?  
>My vice, be damned...<p>

I decide to take another walk around Berk. While I certainly did stand out from the crowd with my suit, I did not mind. I had met a few villagers at The Great Hall during my first day, and liked them well enough (though I did not ask them why their names were so strange). I still couldn't get my head around how they could stand this frigid cold with only sleeveless tunics. I was wearing my coat and hat indoors, and still was colder than a typical London morning (and that's saying something!).  
>My train of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of a large door being swung open and (very) heavy footsteps. My training as a soldier and all my years with Holmes have taught me to always be cautious. Especially since those footsteps couldn't be Valka's, and the main entrance didn't sound like that. Fortunately, my room was just next to Holmes' room, so I got in and quickly grabbed my revolver and swordstick.<br>My swordstick was a gift I had received for an honorable discharge.  
>Unlike most swordsticks, which are not good for much other scaring away cowardly street ruffians, the blade was a very long, katana-like sword. And the stick itself was formidable: very thick and heavy and with a nice steel knob at the end, ideal for bludgeoning, or getting a better grip of the sword.<p>

And of course, the stick was also useful for helping walk whenever my old war wounds would decide to start throbbing again.  
>I rush out, revolver in my left hand, stick in my right.<br>Even though I am right handed, if I got into a hand-to-hand situation, having the stick in my right hand was most certainly preferable, not to mention that I'm an excellent marksman, even with my left hand.

"Who's there?" I ask as I feel myself slipping into my soldier instincts while rushing down the stairs. I hear a soft roar. I know that it's a dragon, what else could it be? I slip my revolver back into my coat-pocket, knowing that having a weapon in my hand would only make it not trust me(especially considering how trigger-happy I can get sometimes) I turn around and I let out a muffled scream and I stumble back a few steps.

It was Cloudjumper. How on Earth did he get here? His more than elephantine size was what got me. I got close to him once, on the island on which Holmes and I met up with Haddock. And I have to say that even from afar his size shocked me. Now he was right next to me and, to my embarrassment, he chilled me to the bone.  
>I knew perfectly well that they harmless, but my instincts told me otherwise. I've seen elephants in India, and they were all dwarfed by him. But with fear, was also fascination for him and any other dragon. I try to say something but it only comes out as a stutter as I take a few more steps backwards.<br>I know that dragons are harmless as long as you're not a threat to them, but I think that you can understand that it would take me a while to adjust to the fact that not only dragons exist, but that they're also nearly as intelligent and emotional as humans.

I was gripping my sword-cane so hard, I'm sure my knuckles were white. I then realized, to my embarrassment, that my hands were shaking. I realize that even only with my swordstick I appeared as a threat, so I toss it aside. What chance would I have against him with just a sword, anyway?  
>Cloudjumper tilted his head to the side and produced a soft grumble while he… raised his eyebrows in confusion? Well, he didn't have eyebrows, but he sure did do something of the kind.<br>His posture clearly was his way of saying "what's wrong with you?" It finally occurs to me just how childish I've been behaving.

Look at me… John Watson, the man that survived two wars with nothing more than a bullet to the shin and shoulder, severe illness in India, his youth as a professional athlete, the man who was capable of defeating a seven-foot tall henchman hand-to-hand, who has taken part in some of the most dangerous anticrime operations that the world had ever witnessed, who regularly runs into danger without as much as a second thought was afraid of a creature whom he already knows that is harmless. I suddenly hear a woman laughing, and I turn back to see Valka laughing as she approaches and scratches Cloudjumper under the chin.

"-Doctor, there's nothing to fear! He wouldn't hurt a fly, in fact I think he likes you!

-I know, it's just… this is all new to me! And I don't know why, but I half expect him to… you know…

-Trust me, Dr. Watson, he's a gentle giant. They all are." She said smiling while continuing to scratch Cloudjumper, much to the dragon's content.

She then stops and gestures to me and then to Cloudjumper obviously inviting me to pet him and defeat my completely childish and unjustified fear. The dragon looks at me with an equally inviting and reassuring glance. I take a few steps forward and focus as much as possible to snap out of my training I had received as a soldier and stop being so cautious. He bends his head down. The movement was so slow, deliberate and gentle that it didn't even make me cringe.

How on earth can something (or rather someone) who can engulf a ship in flames or fight off a small army at once be so gentle?  
>While I had little trouble getting adjusted to Toothless or even Stormfly, I suppose that Cloudjumper was just… I don't know… big? Defeating what little fear I had left in me I place a hand on his forehead and gently rub it. He grumbles contently and I can't help but laugh a bit. But then it hits me…<p>

"-Sorry, Valka, but why is he here? You have stables just next door.

-I was getting ready, Doctor. I'm saddling him up for a flight. You know, I usually never used saddles in The Sanctuary for obvious reasons, but now, you know, I'm joining in with the rest!

-Well, enjoy yourself!" I said smiling sincerely.

"Do you want to come?" she asked. I scratch the back of my head and ponder on this for a few seconds. I wasn't afraid of heights, in fact I even enjoyed our short flight to Berk. They'd most certainly go fast and do some 'stunts', but Holmes is right: it's what I like. I cannot live a life without the extreme.

"-Certainly. I'd love to.

-It will take me another few minutes to finish getting ready, I'm afraid

-No problem. I wished to go on a short walk, anyway." I said putting on my hat and picking up my walking swordstick.

"-Err… Doctor?

-Yes?" I ask turning back.

"-Do you… err… have to dress that… formally?

-It's what I usually wear." I said shrugging.

"And, besides, most Berkians have already seen me yesterday." As I exited the house I decided to just walk all the way to The Great Hall. I realize that at this hour there would be very few people inside, probably just Haddock and some of the key figures in the village. There were a few Berkians, the earliest risers of them anyway, who were going to their respective duties.

Despite their unique appearance (and the fact that they were _VIKINGS_ for crying out loud!) I was relatively unfazed by the human inhabitants ,I had, after all, spent most of the previous day getting to know them over a drink (well… more than a drink now that I think about it), very amiable people once one got to know them.  
>Granted, I found them to be slightly odd due to… cultural differences, but then again in India and Afganistan I found the people there to be relatively odd, but even so, during my service when I was stationed in Calcutta, I had made several Indian friends, despite our differences.<br>There still were plenty of people that hadn't met me the other day, so I acquainted them. Haddock had apparently told everyone in the village of the arrival of me and Holmes, because although there were inevitable questions that seemed odd like

"W_hat's with all the fancy get-up?_" or "_It's too hot today for you to be wearing two coats, don't you think_?" (despite the fact that it was nearly below freezing) they never did insist.  
>As I walked through the nearly empty streets I suddenly hear two men talking. One voice I instantly recognize as that of Haddock, the other one took me awhile to identify, but I realized that it was the voice of Eret. They were behind The Great Hall and from their looks, Eret was desperately trying to prove a point and Haddock was almost angry at him.<p>

My instincts told me that something was off about this conversation, so I placed myself on a corner and looked at them so that they couldn't see me, but I could also see them clearly. Despite the fact that I am rather large and heavy, my stealth training as a soldier and my adventures with Holmes have made at least half-decent at sneaking. I listened to their conversation:

"-Eret, that's just crazy! How can you even suggest such a thing?!

-Chief Hiccup, don't you find it strange that he was able to find those documents in Maul's house so quickly? You searched there and didn't find them! He found them in a heartbeat! How else do you explain that, unless he was friends with Maul in the first place!

-Eret, I should remind you that he _is_ Sherlock Holmes! I've only known him for a few days, and I already know that he's far smarter than anyone else I've ever met! That's how he found them! Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are both men that fight for justice!

-And how do you know that they do that? Just because one of them wrote some books!? Someone can say whatever thay want in a book!

-First of all, those stories are real, second Holmes saved my life! He found Samuel Crooke just before he could kill me, something which, I should remind you, you failed to do!

-He sent you to the gallows!

-As far as he knew, I was just another cold blooded murderer, which in a way I am…  
>And then he gave me the benefit of the doubt and actually helped me when he didn't know that much about me and my plans! In fact, he pretty much risked his own freedom by convincing Inspector Lestrade to clear my name!<p>

-Stop that, Chief, it was you or Maul in that back alley brawl! And why do you think this 'Sherlock Holmes' wants to help you?

-Exactly! If he's working for Drago, why would he help me? So far he's had multiple opportunities to kill me! And the information that he found in Maul's house helped us save dragons, remember? Why would Drago compromise his own plans?

-He just wants to gain your trust, Chief! Both he and his lapdog, that 'John Watson'! Why else would he say that I miss being a dragon trapper? Because he wants to make you not trust me!

-Shut up, Eret! You're just mad because he deduced that about you! And by the way, you do seem pretty proud about that to me!

-Permission to speak freely?

-Denied! Get back to your duties, Eret!"

At this point, the two men were staring each other down and looked as if it would come to blows. Their eyes, posture and their red faces all betrayed a smoldering anger.  
>But their anger was nothing compared to what I was feeling at that point. I could feel my face getting hot despite the freezing air. My hands were shaking and I was gripping my swordstick so hard that if it weren't such a solid stick, I'd have snapped it in two.<br>I was breathing so heavily that it's wonder neither of the two men heard me.

How dare Eret even insinuate that Holmes is working for that… that devil, Drago? How dare he question his (and not to mention my) intentions of good after all that we've done? How can he, a man that enslaved and even killed countless dragons and willingly worked for a madman for years, call me and Holmes traitors? And how dare he call me a lapdog!?  
>In fact, right now I was myself thinking that maybe Eret still is on Drago's payroll. It was a very distinct possibility.<p>

The two men stormed off in opposite directions and I ran to intercept Eret. I don't know what I was thinking, but I was so furious I wasn't even making any coherent thought.  
>My only thought was cutting him off so I could throttle Eret '<em>Son of Eret'<em>. I caught up to him in the plaza, where there were some people, and cut him off while giving him the coldest stare that I could muster. He did the same, and stands tall with his arms folded in a weak attempt to intimidate me with his superior height. I didn't let this make me back down: he may have been a few inches taller, but I was just as well built.

"-What do you want, Watson?

-I was just about to ask you the same bloody thing, son of Eret.

-Oh, really? Then ask it!

-What do you want me and Holmes to do in order for you to put in that thick skull that we are here to stop that bastard, Drago!?

-How about you start by not evasdropping on conversations?

-Ooooh, sorry. Did I hit a nerve by calling your master 'bastard'? And you call me a lapdog when you've been more than that to Drago for years!"

At this point several Vikings were gathered around us, but none dared to intervene. We stared each other down for a full minute before someone in the crowd spoke:

"-Eret, really, mate, back off!

-What's your problem, Spitelout?" bit back Eret looking over my shoulder at the man who spoke.

"-Eret, whatever this debate started from, end it now!

-And why would I do that?

-John Watson is no weakling, Eret, he beat me in friendly sparring and lasted a whole five minutes against Gobber in arm-wrestling.

-Five minutes _and a half_" I corrected, my eyes not leaving Eret's.  
>Eventually he gave me a hard shove which I did not expect. It was so hard and quick I most certainly would have fallen down had it not been for Spitelout to catch me.<p>

At this point, my fury reached a peak, and several people were yelling either for the Chief to come and stop this fight or encouraging me to jump at him only accentuated it. I took off my coat and hat and handed them to Spitelout. I also handed him my cane. It did have a sharpened sword in it, after all, and I was afraid I might kill Eret with that in mind.  
>Besides, to Hell with my stick. I would thrash him with my bare hands.<p>

It would be infinitely more satisfying… 

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><p><em><strong>BAM! Another cliffy! If BeyondTheClouds777 is Queen Cliffy, I'm King Cliffy! XD<strong>_

_**Just so you know: In my headcannon, Watson was also a fighter in his youth rather than just a rugby player, because... I don't know makes him more of a BAMF.  
>And my version of Watson is mostly based off the Watson played by Jude Law.<strong>_

_**And one last thing, do you think I'm doing a good job? Because I'm really starting to doubt my writing skills.  
>I dunno, maybe I'm just being paranoid.<strong>_  
><strong><em>See you! :D<em>**


	21. Chapter 20- Caring Is Not An Advantage

_**Hi there **__****_

_**Sorry for yet another long wait, I've been having end-term exams.  
>Please read the author's note at the end.<br>PLEASE!  
><strong>_:3

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><p><em><span><strong>Haddock: <strong>_I've known Eret '_Son of Eret' _for months now and the man's nerve still never ceases to amaze me. Eret is a good man and despite his trapper background I trust him as much as I trust myself. But since he did work for Drago in the past (although he was pretty much fooled into joining him) he sometimes made… less than decent remarks about dragons.  
>I remember at one point that he taunted Hookfang saying that he trapped hundreds like him (or something along those lines). He said it as a joke, but Hookfang got fired up (literally and figuratively). If it weren't for Snotlout to calm Hookfang down, I'm pretty sure Eret would have ended up with a few extra scars.<br>And for some reason, he constantly thinks that some of the Berkians are spies, which is why many villagers have mixed feelings about the man. On the other hand, he is strong, brave, an excellent fighter, a clever tactician and is reasonably intelligent. And despite the fact that he spent years as a trapper, (and before he became a trapper the title _'slayer' _would have been far more fitting) he adjusted to living with them much quicker than I had anticipated and he is just as friendly with Skullcrusher as my father was, although I'm sure Skullcrusher still misses my father.

Just like everyone…

But now, he thinks that the two people that I bring here to help all of us are traitors, and for no good reason! Why? Because Holmes was capable of finding the secrets of Maul's house? He searched hundreds of houses, I almost none. That's part of his job and his years of experience combined with his intelligence which goes off the charts helped him find those documents, like he had done with hundreds others. And those letters, maps and files helped us locate several of his bases and free dragons which he planned to rebuild his army with.  
>Why would someone working for Drago willingly give information like this?<p>

Those were my thoughts as I stormed off after a particularly aggressive argument with Eret. I went into the backroom of The Great Hall which also doubles as an office of sorts for me when the Chief's house isn't quiet enough for me to concentrate. I lock the door behind me and rub my temple in a pathetic attempt to dull my headache. Even though I have been going through chiefing duties for only a few hours of the morning now, it had already taken it's toll. Eret's nerve had done much to intensify it.  
>What wouldn't I have given for an aspirin at that moment… Wait, maybe Watson has some, I could ask him to give me a pill. I quickly dismiss that thought; the prospect of dragging myself all the way back to the house without Toothless' speed was for some reason unbearable; I just wanted to rest .<p>

Toothless… the moment I watched him taking off with Holmes on his back I've begun to have second thoughts about this whole arrangement. _"Stop worrying." _I kept on telling myself. What could possibly go wrong? Sherlock Holmes, one of the smartest men in the world going on a routine flight with the last Night Fury who also happens to be The Alpha. Those two alone can fend for themselves (kind of an understatement, Holmes is an expert boxer and martial artist and Toothless is a Night Fury), so together there's nothing that can happen to them. Right? Oh, how I wish I could have believed that 100%... I worried too much. I needed to calm down.  
>Tobacco helps one calm down. I didn't smoke much, even though I spent much time in a city in which virtually every man was a smoker. Only when I had to stay calm.<br>_  
>Toothless is fine, stop worrying.<br>_  
>I open one of the drawers of the desk and retrieve my clay pipe and what little was left of my weak tobacco. Unlike Holmes, or most Londoners for that matter, I preferred my tobacco to not be too strong. Besides, if I opted for stronger tobacco I could have worsened my headache.<p>

_Holmes… take care of Toothless…_

I stuff my pipe and retrieve a matchbox from the drawer. I take out a match and… Dammit. My hands were shaking.

_Toothless is fine. Don't worry. _I kept telling myself.

Then why am I so worried? I wasn't worried when Astrid or Fishlegs went flying him whenever I got caught up with chiefing.  
>So why was I not able to trust Holmes on this when I have trusted this man with absolutely everything including my life?<br>Aha! There! I finally manage to strike the match and I carefully ignite the tobacco within my small pipe. A break from all those duties was something that I was willing to savor to the fullest. My mind kept on going back to Toothless and Holmes. No matter how much I knew that this made me anxious and worried I couldn't help but think about them.

_Toothless is fine. He has to be. He is, after all, The Alpha._

For a few minutes I did nothing but watch the strands of bluish smoke ascending towards the celling and exiting out the window. Yes, I had opened the window to help with my headache. After I feel my headache dull, probably because of the chilly air from outside, I randomly pick a book that I had bought from London.  
>"Crime and Punishment"? Never got the chance to read it, might as well do it now. But I hardly got to read a paragraph when I hear a deep voice calling my name. I groan. The hardest part of chiefing(i.e. rebuilding the village after the battle with Drago) was over, but there were still some days in which I wondered how my father managed to put up with all of this. This wasn't even what I would call a '<em>busy day<em>' but it still was very tiring and restless. I was still working as hard as I could: I was myself surprised at how quickly we were able to rebuild the village.  
>All I needed was a little self-confidence, which I sometimes lacked.<p>

I recognized the voice as Spitelout's, my uncle and Snotlout's father. Fortunately, he is far smarter than his son, so I was always able to trust him as my second in command and even running the village while I was out. And for some reason, he insisted to call me 'chief' after I took the helm although he's my uncle because of 'traditions'.  
>If he was looking for me it obviously meant something urgent had come up. Which in turn meant the end for my short break. I unlocked the door for him and he came in.<br>He was holding a rather elegant grey suit jacket, an overcoat and a bowler hat of the same colour and a rather thick black walking stick.

Wait… that's Watson's coat, hat and swordstick! What was he doing with them?

"-Chief! Hiccup!

-Calm down, Spitelout. Sit down, compose yourself.

-No time! We have to stop the fight!

-Fight!?"

Before he even responds, I figure it out: Watson had handed his coat, hat and stick to Spitelout as preparation before a fight. But Watson wasn't the one to start fights. He did do some sparring in The Great Hall, but that's no reason for my second in command to come running in a panic to me; it had to be a serious fight.  
>But a serious fight with whom? No one around the village is capable of angering someone as good-natured and patient as Watson. Heck, even if the <em>twins<em> did something, I'm pretty sure Watson wouldn't go down to their level, he's a gentleman.  
>From London, of all places.<br>No one could anger him to a level of starting a fight.

Except… Oh no… If he accused Watson of being a spy...

"-Eret!? -Yes, Chief, how do you know?

-Never mind! Let's go! Where are they?

-In the plaza near the healers' huts. At least they won't have to go a long way to get first aid!

-Very funny, Uncle!" I said rolling my eyes while donning my brown fur overcoat and running out with him.  
>Fortunately, the aforementioned plaza wasn't that far from The Great Hall, and combined with the yells and crashes that accompany a fight, I found them easily. We pushed through the crowd and caught the two in the middle of their scuffle.<br>Watson was charging Eret, his days as a rugby player obviously shining through. Just before he was slammed against a wall, Eret kicked Watson in the shin causing him to yell in pain and anger.  
>Eret reversed and threw the doctor against the wall. Eret tried to follow up with a big haymaker against his dazed opponent. Watson blocked the feral blow with a skilled elbow block and countered with a swift jab to the ribs and a left hook to the jaw.<br>Before Watson could strike his opponent with a follow-up, Eret grappled Watson and drove him a few meters away.

Eret attempted a headbutt. Sensing the movement, Watson moved his head away, but was still partially caught by the blow, causing him to groan softly, but still audibly.  
>Still not letting go of Watson's collar, Eret pulled his hand back for a powerful, decisive blow. Before he was hit, Watson grabbed the former trapper's free hand with both arms and dodged at the last minute. With Eret's hand in tow, Watson twisted it with a well-known Army restraining technique and Eret bent over in pain as a sickening crack and scream of pain from Eret was heard. Just as Watson was starting to deliver kicks to Eret's exposed and defenseless torso, Eret used his superior height and weight to tackle the doctor to the ground, punched him a couple of times square in the nose and began to strangle him!<p>

Despite being weakened by this development, Watson delivered a knee to his opponent's ribs, namely, exactly the side which he struck previously and swiftly did a reversal, and now he was the one on top, punching.

All this happened in less than half a minute, and despite me and Spitelout pushing and pulling through the crowd and yelling 'STOP!', we couldn't stop them earlier. I grabbed Watson from behind and pulled him away from Eret. Watson was far stronger than I, as a result I couldn't restrain him much, so I was grateful when Spitelout took hold of his other arm. Eret quickly got up and pulled his hand to punch a restrained Watson but stopped when he saw me.

Both men were breathing heavily and staring daggers at each other. Watson's breathing was particularly raspy from being strangled. They both looked terrible: Eret had a trickle of blood coming out one of the corners of his mouth, an ugly bruise starting to form near it, a red eye which I knew without quick treatment would turn into a sickening purple swell, as well as the fact that his left wrist was swelling and turning a worrying shade of pink. Watson wasn't much better: He got hit full in the eye, his nose was broken, he was bending over slightly where he got kicked in the ankle, some bruising was beginning to show where he had been strangled, and his elegant grey waistcoat and white shirt, usually kept in the most pristine condition was now rumpled, stained with blood near the sleeves and dirty from being slammed into walls and the ground. Even his moustache looked ragged.

Judging from the extent of their wounds, they had been fighting for at least two minutes before I arrived.  
>Attempting to keep a gentlemany air about him, Watson casually straightened and dusted his clothes, fixed his collar and tie and took his handkerchief to his bleeding nose, though it was painfully obvious that he was barely keeping himself from jumping at Eret's neck. Surprisingly, aside from dust and wrinkles, Watson's clothes were relatively unscathed, they weren't ripped, which was fortunate, for Watson's suit was easily worth at least thirty pounds.<p>

"Hiccup, what's wrong with you!?" I turned around to see who said those shocking and foolish words. What's wrong with me!? Sure enough, the one who said that was none other than Ruffnut...

"-I bet ten coppers that Eret, the love of my life would come out on top! And he was winning against that old man! And you stopped it!

-Uhh, no, the moustachio was winning!" Tuffnut responded, facing his twin sister.

"-No! No one can beat Eret, Son Of Eret, Tuffnut! And you know it!

-The guy in the fancy clothes was giving Eret a thrashing bigger than he ever received from Drago, shut up!

-No, you shut up, you…" And with that, the twins started fighting.

As always.

At least when they fought they couldn't blow things up. I groan in frustration. Partly with the twins, mostly with two grown adult men fighting over… actually what were they fighting over?

"So…" I began as calmly and firmly as possible, as I felt my throbbing headache coming back with a vengeance.

"What did this start from? Hmm…?" They both rushed to respond first but I stopped them.

"Actually I don't care. Either way, you've both been acting worse than Ruffnut and Tuffnut there!" I said pointing to the twins who were now grappling over a fruit stall few yards away.

"-Eret, for you, maybe I can understand, but Watson? For Thor's sake, you're a gentleman!

-Gentlemen are permitted to defend themselves." Watson responded quickly and firmly.

"Defend themselves!? You started it, you fool!" Eret yelled.

"No I did not. As you may remember, you not only shoved me, you also struck me immediately after I removed my outer garments!" Watson responded dryly.

"-Yeah, after you took off your coat and hat as defiance, I think a good knock on the jaw was the least you deserved!

-Me!? Defiance! When you called me a lap dog, what the bloody hell was that!?

-Truth!" responded Eret with a smug look on his face.

"Why you…" scowled Watson darkly moving forward to hit Eret again, but thankfully Spitelout caught him from behind.

"Stop! Both of you! Right now I ought to lock up both of you an entire week for public disturbance and fighting, that's what would happen in a British court, wouldn't it, Watson?" I said staring daggers at the now embarrassed doctor who was beginning to realize the gravity of the situation.

"And you, Eret… I know that you your experience with Drago has made you cautious, and I appreciate your loyalty to the village and to the dragons. But if I bring in two people to help us, it means that I've already checked that I can trust them. Sure, Holmes arrested me, for a bloody good reason! He didn't know a thing about me! Eret, if you were a man upholding law and order and someone commited murder, _premeditated _murder, I should add-" I pause slightly as saying this inevitably made me think of me thrusting Inferno into Maul's chest… How I deserved to die in that rope… I shake my head to momentarily cease that bloody memory which would haunt me just as much as my father's death for the rest of my life…

"-What would you do if not arrest them? And despite me being a murderer, Holmes forgave me and already saved my life, just last night!

-He did what?" Asked Eret bewildered. Oh, that's right I didn't tell him about that. I told him that he had found Samuel Crooke, but nothing more. Why didn't I think of that during our little verbal joust behind the Great Hall? That would have been a decisive argument!

"Holmes realized that Samuel Crooke, the assassin that's already tried to kill me once with poison, was hiding in a closet on way leading to me and Astrid's bedroom.  
>He disguised himself as me to draw him out and apprehend him! Do you understand!? He risked his life for me!"<p>

Eret's mouth was agape and his eyes went wide. I could tell that he didn't expect Holmes to be so selfless. Even the villagers around had gasped in shock and were starting to murmur. Clearly, Holmes would be in for a warm greeting if he returned.

Wait.

_DID I JUST SAY 'IF'!?_

How more ridiculous can my thought-process become? They're fine, both of them!

Right?

Thankfully, Eret's apologizing interrupted my dark thoughts.

"-Sorry about that, doctor. I appear to have misjudged you and your friend.

-I'm sorry, too. I have behaved like an uneducated blackguard." Responded Watson good-heartedly. A few things I learned about Watson after this incident: he is a fine gentleman, but when he gets angry he completely forgets good manners and etiquette and can even become violent. But after an outburst, he has the good sense to apologize (unless, of course, the person he was angry at deserved to be throttled)

"-Oh, and doctor. Why'd you yell so hard when I kicked you in the ankle? I mean you took harder blows without saying a thing.

-One of my old war wounds is there.

-Ouch. Sorry.

-Yes. I got shot there. The field medics actually wanted to amputate it when they first saw it!

-Wait, what?" I cut in. I looked at the leg in which Watson was kicked: The left leg. And they wanted to remove it shin down when he was wounded…  
>Huh…<p>

"Yes, that's right." Said Watson, his moustache curling up into a smile.

"I appear to have some things in common with your chief! That and having more near-death experiences than either of us would ever care to count!" concluded Watson who was still smiling.

"We should go to the healers' they're right over there." Proposed Eret.

"No need. Wait here, I'll get my medical bag." Said the bruised doctor.  
>I sighed in relief. I guess I really am the peacekeeper I thought I was… Even though I had to be much more firm than I'm used to being, I felt good for resolving yet another conflict. I guess there's something to be said about turning the heat up when the situation requires it...<p>

Watson started to the Chief's house at a brisk pace, his leg seeming to give him less trouble.  
>I cough audibly, causing him to turn around. I look to Eret.<br>"Oh right. Sorry, how very rude of me. How could I forget?" He said before he gave Eret's hand a hearty shake.

"-And, doctor, I think you broke my arm when you twisted it!

-No, just slightly sprained it. I'm a doctor, I know how to sprain limbs without breaking them. Just give it a day and it should heal. Sorry about that." Responded Watson taking his coat and hat from Spitelout and putting them on.

_**Watson:**_ Haddock had told me to take Eret straight to his house and offer him first aid there. Fortunately, for either of us, the bleeding stopped quickly and the bruises didn't swell much thanks to my iodine presses. I treated Eret first and then looked to my own wounds.

"It's only a slight sprain, but it nearly broke when you tackled me while I was restraining you. Still, the worst will be over in just a few hours, although I suggest you use that hand as little as possible. Use a sling if you have to." I said as I wrapped his sprained wrist. After the short treatment (and yet another apology from either of us), Eret told me why he was so suspicious of new people:

"-You see, Doctor, I've been a resident of Berk for less than a year, however in this short time I've caught spies masquerading as well-meaning people. Even before me, Hiccup told me of a girl called Heather who arrived in Berk with what she said were good intentions. Turns out, she was a spy.

-I see. And since you knew so little of us, you were instantly suspicious. Not to mention that your Chief was arrested and nearly executed, directly or indirectly, because of us. Holmes' remark about you being proud of your past must have only added fuel to the fire.

-Yes. Tell me: Did your friend really do that? Put himself in front of an assassin to defend our chief?

-He sure did." I said, unable to conceal my slight smile. Despite his apparently egoistical personality, Holmes was a very selfless man. He put himself in the firing line for people whom he had never met on multiple occasions.

"-I then escorted Crooke to the cells and your Chief's cousin guided me there.

-And then?

-I had to escort Snotlout to his own house to make sure he didn't kill Samuel for trying to kill his cousin." I said with an eye-roll.  
>Goodness, was that Jorgensen boy not right in the head. Spitelout had told me that his son inherited his strength and not his mind, and I more than agreed with him once I had to practically drag Snotlout away from the dungeon to ensure he didn't beat Samuel to death.<br>I had to use Army restraining techniques more on Snotlout than the actual prisoner.  
>I actually thought on using a sedative on Snotlout for a moment while he was struggling to break free from my grasp and beat Samuel down.<p>

"Ha-ha! I can imagine Snotlout doing that! Despite all his façade, he cares deeply about his cousin." Said Eret. We were interrupted by the front door opening and Valka's tall slender figure appearing in the frame.

"Doctor, you're already back? I thought you were going to-" she stopped her speech when she laid eyes on our faces covered in bruises that were already fading thanks to treatment and iodine-drenched bandages.

"What happened!?" she asked shocked.

"Just had a fight." I said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"It's fine now, just a brief misunderstanding." Said Eret quickly.

"No, in fact we nearly killed each other…" I said very matter-of-factly.

"Eret, I hope you didn't tell Dr. Watson that he was a spy!" Valka said crossing her arms.

"-No, he didn't tell me directly. I overheard him, and then, to my shame and disgrace, I got furious. I have behaved in a very un-gentleman-like manner.

-As I have" responded Eret bowing his head.

I restrained from telling him that for him it didn't really matter since he wasn't a gentleman. Valka sighed and shook her head.

"We're alright now, though. Your son has made us come to terms with each other." I said.

"That's my son, alright. A true peacekeeper." She said, a small smile crossing her lips, her disapproval with us seeming to evaporate.

"I've got to get back to my duties. Goodbye, Doctor. And sorry again." Said Eret said getting off the seat and exiting the house.

"-Well, Dr. Watson, please excuse Eret, he gets suspicious of some people.

-It is I who should be formulating apologies. Unfortunately, I can offer him nothing more than my deepest apologies for my behavior which has been more reminiscent of a ruffian than a gentleman doctor.

-You _did _treat him, I think that about makes you even." She said shrugging her thin shoulders.

"-You still want to come with me and Cloudjumper? I assure you, Doctor, that it will be like nothing that you've ever experienced. We have to neutralize that fear of dragons, don't we?

-I already said I do. I don't even know why I was so scared of Cloudjumper. He is a remarkable, extraordinary creature.

-I know." She said smiling.

Before we left, I put on my winter coat and I slipped my revolver and a few rounds in my coat pocket and took my swordstick.  
>One can never be too careful, especially since Berk did have enemies. I wondered what Holmes was doing at that moment. Maybe we'd stumble into him, I thought smiling. Wouldn't <em>that <em>be something...

_**Holmes: **_ "Do I look _exactly _like your friend, Toothless?" I asked as I once again fixed my wig with a nearly invisible hairpin. The only way one would be able to remove my wig was either by taking the time to remove all the individual pins, or to pull on it with enough force to shatter a brick.  
>Toothless sniffed the air around me attentively and scrunched his nose while shaking his head. I sighed and shook my head. Despite how intelligent Toothless and dragons in general are, he could be remarkably thick sometimes.<p>

"Toothless, humans can't smell me. I meant if I _look, _not _smell_ like him!" I said dryly.

He narrowed his pupils and measured me from head to toe. He poked my left leg with his scaly nose and grunted. While I did make a shoe which imitated a grey peg leg, it looked nothing like Haddock's prosthetic. The best I could do was make the shoe out of metal and springs, and as a result, it was a lot bulkier than Haddock's peg leg.

"The foot is irrelevant, Toothless. Your master could just have changed his prosthetic. It's not a very determining factor." I said very matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I nearly forgot." I said while taking a very thin bag filled with some _liquid_ from Toothless' saddle bag. I took off the middle part of my flight gear and tied the bag to my torso. For the hundredth time that day, Toothless looked at me with confusion.

"Ah, you're wondering what this thin bag is for? It's an essential part of our getaway plan." I said.

"And so is this." I said pulling out one of the pieces of my fake peg leg. Only when I removed it did it look like what it was: a small flip-knife. It was a special kind of knife, typically used during stabbing scenes in stage plays. As a weapon, it was very near useless, in fact I was much better off using my bare hands. But, it had one unique property which made it absolutely vital in my plan…  
>Toothless still looked at me with bewilderment.<p>

"Don't worry, my dear chap, this knife is not for stabbing. Well, not for stabbing _them, _anyway…" I said, not being able to conceal my smile. There was no way that this plan could fail. They wanted me alive, after all, and me 'dying' would make them panic...

"You will understand everything soon enough." I said while I put the pocketknife back in it's secret place on my 'prosthesis'.

"For the millionth time, Toothless, my plan is _'heads I win, tails they lose.' _Even in the very unlikely scenario that I am unable to escape, the tracking dragons will be able to locate us. Now, old boy, shall we go?" He scrunched his nose while grunting with disapproval as I said this.  
>I realized that it was not because of me demanding him to get on with my plan, but my other remark…<p>

"You are right. Me calling you '_old' _is rather inappropriate considering that I am more than twenty years your senor." Toothless seemed to agree with this.

"Now, then, to the ship, my dear fellow!" I said as I mounted Toothless and strapped myself to him. He reluctantly spread his wings and went to the Berserker ship. The moment we were within approximately a hundred and fifty seven yards from the ship, I managed to catch the yells of the commander: " Dragon rider! Get him with the bola! Kill the dragon if you have to, but leave the rider alive, Chief Dagur will want to beat some information out of him once we reach Berserker Island!  
>" I deduced from his voice that he was relatively young: mid-twenties at most. As well as the fact that he has asthma (raspy breathing with breaks of about a second between sentences), is confident, if a little unseasoned (actually <em>very <em>unseasoned), but the anger and excitement in his voice was indicative of narcissism and even moral insanity, although not as severe as that of his superiors.  
>Toothless dodged the first bola that was fired.<p>

"Toothless, we have to get on the ship, what are you doing!?" He didn't respond as he dodged the second bola that was thrown by the contraption. I already told him that we had to get onboard by those means, what was he doing?

"Toothless, do you trust me?" I asked firmly in his ear. He made no response to my question as the bola was being loaded again.  
>The short answer was, no, he didn't trust me. Even Haddock would have had trouble convincing Toothless to purposefully get caught by a bola, let alone someone who was more or less a stranger.<br>As the Berserkers were getting ready to fire a third bola, a plan of action formed in my mind in a heartbeat. I just hoped that, one day, Toothless would forgive me for this…

"You don't trust me? Well I shall have to do something about that, then…" I said emotionlessly. I exhaled as I felt my pulse quicken, despite my attempts to use mind techniques to slow down the heart.  
>The plan would give Toothless no choice but to come on the ship with me because he is unable to fly on his own. I removed all the straps from his saddle, let go of the reins and waited for him to proceed with the next evasive maneuver. The movement was sudden, and since I had no support, I fell, his yelp of surprise and fright as I betrayed his trust had a very, very unexpected effect on me.<br>It sent a painful, icy, and very unfamiliar, yet _strangely familiar _feeling going through my chest as I plummeted.  
>That feeling was guilt. But not just any guilt.<p>

It was the guilt I felt when I betrayed my closest and only friend, Watson. It was what I felt five years ago, when I faked my own death. When Watson came to the edge of The Falls and deduced that there was no way I could have escaped my fight with Moriarty without falling myself and he broke down, certain that he had lost his best friend, it was the first time I ever saw Watson cry…  
>It was what I also felt, three years later when I heard that Watson's wife had died. Only that time, the feeling of guilt was much burning and agonizing...<p>

When I restrained myself from screaming back at Watson that I was alive at Reichenbach, I reasoned that he had Mary.  
>That he would always have someone who loved him more than anything else.<br>But then, Mrs. Watson had died, and I was not there for my best, and indeed, my only friend. I had betrayed my only friend at that point.

Had I truly grown so fond of Toothless in this short period of time? It would seem so. My thoughts were interrupted by Toothless catching me and angling himself so that he took the fall.  
>It almost brought a tear to my eye.<br>I had betrayed his trust, and now he took blows for me… I heard all the soldiers surrounding us as I leapt to my feet. They all pointed their weapons at me as they whistled in astonishment and said

"Is that a Night Fury?"

"It's not just _a _Night Fury. It is _the _Night Fury. And The Alpha!" announced the young captain as he made his way through the small crowd with a smug smile on his face that could have eclipsed the sun.  
>My eyes scan over him as I deduce everything what I can about him: Judging by the calluses on his hands and the way he held his sword around his buckle showed that his experience in fighting is limited, at best.<br>His muscles were developed, but not well-toned, therefore his large build is owed to his genes, not to particularly intense physical exercise. He was chosen as captain only because he came from a rich family, that much was evident from his exquisite helmet, a family heirloom and his tunic which he seemed to take great pride in. Candle stains on his sleeve, he leaves the candle on at night: afraid of the dark.

In other words, he is a pathetic excuse for a soldier, let alone a captain, who is hungry for a higher rank. Long dark hair, overly brushed, overly concerned with his looks, snobbish and narcissistic. Bruised knuckles, fading bruises on his face: frequent bar fights, violent, particularly when drunk. His cold dark eyes showed very little intelligence, but it also showed evil intent and that he was sadistic. I deduced all this, and even more, before he even had time to resume his sentence.

"And _that _lads, is The Chief of Berk! Ho-weee, we caught a big fish, boys! Dagur will finally make me commander over one of his flagships! And you, men, will earn a commendation! He-heh, this is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third, and isn't he strapping? A true Viking Chief!" he said with heated sarcasm. The men around him laughed.  
>While I was just as, if not taller, than any of them, I, like Haddock, was far from bulky, mostly due to my strict exercise, natural build, and me often starving myself so that I can think better. Despite this, I was most certainly far stronger and a better fighter than any of them.<br>They were all young and inexperienced, just like their leader.

"You know, for a fishbone you sure did cause The Chiefs a lot of trouble. I bet that after this, I'll get my own island! I'll be sure to suggest Drago ways of execution." He said with a sadistic smile.  
>I only looked at him with my coldest and most menacing look. It was a look that was capable of intimidating even the most veteran of criminals. I could tell that he was already starting to become frightened, but he instantly remembered that he was in charge. He had multiple men with weapons pointed at me and Toothless.<br>In an attempt to show me who was in charge, he tried to kick me in the back of the kneecap. Sensing his move, I instantly angled my legs and hardened my muscles in a way that I was unharmed by his blow.  
>It's a common martial arts exercise: you stay in a guard position while someone hits you in the back of the kneecap, and during my training in Baritsu and other martial arts I have mastered this exercise, as a result I am very difficult to be knocked down in combat, let alone by just being kicked. When he sees that I am not even fazed by his blow he takes a few steps back.<br>But this only lasted a second, for in the next, he rushes towards me with a roar of anger and pulls his hand back to hit me. In these brief moments, a plan of action formed into my mind: counter his blow, use the captain as a human shield with my gun to his head and demand for all documents onboard.

But I didn't. Why? Why didn't I want to use this technique which was so unlikely to fail?  
>I searched through my Mind Palace why I didn't want to grab this villain and threaten him and found… Toothless.<br>If I grabbed the captain, the crew would use Toothless as a bargaining chip. In order to persuade me to let go of the captain, they would hurt Toothless. I have a flash of a vision of Toothless getting cut by one of the crew with a sword, his yells of pain almost audible… No. I would not do this.

I imagine myself trying to explain to Haddock that _I _was the reason Toothless was injured or perhaps even dead, and worse still, that I could have prevented it… I shut that vision down before my imagination can take it to anything. I would use my initial plan of escape and bear the pain, for Toothless.  
>Had I grown so fond of Toothless, that I would take blows, so that he doesn't?<p>

The simplest and truest answer was yes.

My thoughts are interrupted by a powerful pain exploding in my right cheek. The captain had just hit me with the back of his fist, but my mind doesn't allow my body to let even the slightest of grunts escape my throat: I would not give this bastard the satisfaction. Instead, I darken my gaze as I feel a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of my mouth, which caused him to become genuinely frightened at my apparent obliviousness to pain.

"Back-handed. So unlike a gentleman." I say in a tone which I save only for the vilest of criminals.  
>A tone which made him take steps backwards in fright.<p>

"Get him out of my sight. Lock him up. Let's see how tough you are once Drago rips your limbs off one by one, fishbone." He said in what he tried to make sound like a threat, but his fear made him stutter.  
>Two of the guards grab me from behind and guide me to hatch which led into the bowels of the ship.<p>

"Meanwhile we'll have some fun with your dragon, _oh, great Chief of Berk!_" I hear the captain say.  
>I let a gasp escape my lips. I had a pretty good idea of what he meant by that. I hear the sound of Toothless being muzzled.<p>

"It would be a lot more fun to hear him scream during that, but we can't allow him to call beasts to his aid." Said the captain.

Scream? Oh, no. I then hear the crack of a whip as the crew cheers to the captain.

No.

I instantly think of trying to break free. It would be so easy, I was a far better combatant than those two put together. I could incapacitate them and then take out my revolver and kill the captain before he can hurt Toothless.  
>But my mind stopped me: Even if I could beat those two ruffians, our scuffle would be noticed, as well as me taking out my weapon, the captain would then kill Toothless. I shake my head to prevent myself from imagining Toothless dead.<br>They drag me into the bowels of the ship and they take my revolver as well as the other equipment satchels that I had on my flight gear.

"What's that?" One of the guards asks as he takes my revolver.

"It's called a pistol. Be careful with it. See that lever? If you push it, you might kill someone, so be careful. The Skipper will want to keep that as a prize, so just take it to the store room." Responded his companion, who was obviously far more intelligent.  
>One of them takes my belongings into a small store room and then they both throw me into a small cell.<br>It was the only cell on this boat: The ship was not large enough in order to have multiple cells without sacrificing storage and bedding capacities. They thought I was unarmed. They thought wrong.

"I'll go and have some fun with the dragon as well, watch our prisoner." Said one of the guards smiling as he rubbed his palms together. He actually took pleasure in the simple thought of torturing Toothless? That made me sick. Even sicker when I thought that Toothless was suffering right now, because of me. The guard goes away, but his friend stops him.

"Fine, but be sure to be back in ten minutes. I have a score to settle with the beast m'self." He said.

As the other guard opened the trapdoor, the sounds of the small crew cheering and the cracking of the whip were more audible to me than ever. It sent a dagger made of ice plummeting through my very heart as I unwillingly let a loud gasp escape me. I knew that since Toothless' scaly skin was hardier than most that he would escape this bruise-free, but that didn't change the fact that he would feel pain because of me… The guard watching me laughs.

"Don't worry, boy. We won't rough up your beast too badly: Drago and Dagur will wanna have their own fun with him. Just before they cut off his head that is. With you watching, with your eyelids cut off so you have to watch." He said menacingly with a devilish grin. Thankfully, it would never come to that. I quickly make my plan of attack for when the guard will rush into my cell to stop the blood flow.  
>What blood flow you may ask? Guess.<p>

_**Plan of attack**: **Target**: young, strong, some training with weapons, minimal experience. Obviously, heavy drinker.  
><span><strong>State<strong>: Panicked, unexpectant of combat, given that he thinks that I am dying._

_**First**: Send powerful left cross to break a rib into the liver, exploit alcoholism_

_**Two**: In unspeakable pain, will attempt to scream, paralyze vocal chords and leave him breathless, unable to even utter a word._

_**Three**: Block instinctive, uncalculated right hook with grab, twist and break wrist._

_**Four**: Finally, knock out with right haymaker to left jaw._

_**Summary of medical prognosis:** One rib broken, two cracked, liver bleeding internally, vocal chords paralyzed for approximately four hours and twenty-one minutes, wrist snapped, jaw fractured, brain shock, recovers consciousness in two hours and eleven minutes at best._

_**Physical recovery**: two months._

_**Psychological recovery**: six months._

_**Return to full physical and mental capacity**: unlikely_

In a heartbeat, my mind finishes the plan of attack.  
>The beating that I would administer was far more severe than was required. But this blackguard, as well as everyone else onboard, particularly the captain deserved it to the fullest. I take off my flight gear, leaving me in my shirt.<p>

"What's the matter, fishbone, getting hot?" The guard asked mockingly.  
>I give him a sadistic smile of my own which causes his own grin to cease.<p>

"So, Dagur and Drago want me alive? And if something happens to me, you'll be held personally responsible." I say giving a menacing laugh. He looks at me with disbelief.

"Well, good luck with that!" I say as I retrieve the pocketknife from my fake peg-leg.  
>He gasps in shock as he realizes what I'm about to do.<br>I plunge the 'knife' into myself. He panics and grabs some gauze and ointment from the cupboard beside him as he scrambles to unlock the door as 'blood' seeps onto the wooden floor of my cell.  
>As I mentioned before, the knife is used in stage plays during stabbing scenes. It has a spring which causes the blade to retract, leaving the actor unharmed. However, it stays long enough to pierce the 'blood' bags beneath the actor's shirt, so as to give the audience the illusion that the actor died.<br>My knowledge of acting have made this feat much simpler. As he kneels beside me, dropping the gauze and medicine in his panicked state, I put my plan into action.

The cracking of the rib is audible as I ram my left fist into a well-chosen pressure point on his side.  
>I send the side of my palm into his throat, not enough to snap his neck, but enough to silence and weaken him.<br>I snap his wrist as he tries to send his first and last swing at me.  
>As I reel in for the final blow, I remember that at that point Toothless was in great danger, and that those devils were right now laughing and cheering at his expense. The thought of Toothless being tied up with chains and muzzled as he was being whipped made me furious like nothing before.<br>I send all my fury into that punch.  
>I had used so much force in that blow that the crack from the punch echoes throughout the bowels of the ship and the young guard spins a couple of times in mid-air. I stand over his unconscious form, breathing heavily.<br>I didn't breathe heavily because of the fight (if you can even call it that, it lasted less than four seconds), all it took was a few swings to well-chosen pressure points.  
>I was breathing heavily from anger and fear. Anger from knowing that those bastards considered killing and torturing dragons a mere amusing sport. Fear from knowing that Toothless was in danger. Thankfully, all other crew members were upstairs watching the 'show', so I was able to recover my revolver and other equipment without any trouble. I had a pistol and ammo to spare, but now I needed to figure out how to save Toothless. Wait, I had come here to recover documents, first and foremost, I need to find those first.<p>

No. Just no. The thought of Toothless suffering more than he had to because of me was unbearable. First I would save him, then the documents. I needed a way to sneak onboard. I close my eyes and focus my hearing:

_One of the guards checking his axe;_ _Another one asks his friend if there is any wine left; and… a muzzled scream intercut by whips. No, focus! This mustn't register on an emotional level… Think, dammit!  
>Emotions are nothing but a barrier...<em>

My mind palace was nothing more than a hazy mess. My emotions were getting in the way. Every time I came close to hearing something even remotely useful, I heard Toothless getting humiliated by those blackguards.  
>How could have I allowed myself to become emotionally attached to him!? I always said that love is a chemical defect, capable of pushing people to commit the most vile and shocking deeds. Most murders are motivated by love or a similar emotion. Besides, caring would interfere with my work. That is one of the reasons I never even considered marriage.<p>

Mycroft's words echo through my skull: _"All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage." _ Yet, I cared about Watson, Inspector Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson and the children within the Baker Street Irregulars. I would have ran into a burning building for any of them. That should have raised an alarm bell for a man who considered love and emotions to be nothing more than a deadly human chemical defect. And now I cared about Toothless more than I thought myself capable after only a few days of meeting him.  
>I took a deep breath and try to use calming breathing techniques that I had learned during my time in Tibet. I needed to calm down and figure out a way to incapacitate everyone onboard without putting Toothless in danger.<p>

Focus. Think. I needed to _think_.

I needed to be Sherlock Holmes. 

* * *

><p><span><strong><em>Author's note:<em>** _Bet I had you all scared for a moment that Holmes killed himself.! Don't worry, Holmes would never commit suicide, he's far too fond of himself for that XD_

_Yeah, so I'm trying to base Holmes and Watson on my own personal vision of how they should be if they ever got into the world of HTTYD (I mean if I used strictly canon Holmes and Watson, it wouldn't be very convincing), so their personality and abilities are based off partly on the book canon, partly the BBC series, partly on the Guy Ritchie films._  
><em>For instance: Holmes' ability to methodically think out a fight before it actually happens is present in Guy Ritchie's Sherlock<em> Holmes, _and I loved the idea. Holmes' Mind Palace is from the BBC Series._

_And in case you're wondering why Watson has such a short fuse temper in this one, it's because the Watsons from the movies and series often get angry and violent (For instance, in BBC Sherlock, John beat up Sherlock when he came back from the dead and he sprained Wiggins' arm when he was threatened. And in Guy Ritchie's he's pretty easy to make furious as well._

_Also, how do you guys think I'm doing on making Sherlock actually give a damn about others. I mean he is occasionally shown to care about Watson or Mrs. Hudson in book canon or BBC, but did I make him care maybe too much about Toothless? I mean, after all, he was described as a brain without a heart. :/_

_Last thing, sorry guys!: Okay, so I was reading some of my earlier chapter and didn't like them at all, I even found a few discrepancies. So I'll be giving them a major facelift, so if you see that I've updated, but there's no new chapter, check some of my earlier chapters, I'm planning some radical changes (for instance in the first chapter, when Drago meets Holmes and Watson, I'm planning to make Drago much more violent)_

_See you soon and sorry for the evil cliffhanger!_

_Don't worry Toothless will be fine! Or will he? BWAHAHAHAHA! :)_

_Do you think that Holmes should save Toothless on his own, or have Valka, Watson and Cloudjumper lend a hand?  
><em>


	22. Chapter 21- Just a Little Joyride

_**Author's note: Sorry for yet another long wait, guys, but now school's out, so I'll be able to update more often! Heck, I'll start working on the next chapter as soon as I publish this, so stay tuned!**_

_**Also, sorry I didn't include Holmes' POV in this chapter, espacially after I left you on such an evil cliffhanger, but this chapter is already more than 7000 words, so I left it for the next chapter.**_

_**This chapter I've tried doing some Watson-Valka; Watson-Cloudjumper friendship. I repeat, it's only FRIENDSHIP (can't even call it that since they barely know each other) , so don't get any ideas! Watson isn't the kind of guy to take advantage of a grieving widow, not to mention that in my SH headcanon, Watson swore off romantic relationships after his wife died.**_  
><em><strong>The only romance in this story will be between Hiccup and Astrid and no amount of begging will change my mind.<strong>_  
><em><strong>Period.<strong>_

_**The only reason I'm bringing this up is because when I showed this chapter to one of my friends, he asked if I will do any Watson/Valka romance. It was then that I punched him in the stomach (okay, not really, but he is a bit of an idiot when it comes to writing stories)**_

_**Also, I'm not much of a romantic in the first place.**_

_**So, without further ado...**_

* * *

><p>Valka:<p>

"Isn't it amazing, Doctor?" I say as I sit up on both feet atop Cloudjumper.  
>We had been going quite fast and high, and Dr. Watson insisted that I go just as fast and reckless as I usually do, despite the fact that I warned him that it may be a bit too much for him, considering that it was only his second flight and that his first flight was very tame. But, he simply responded that everything he's ever done has been on the verge of the extreme.<br>And, indeed, he must have had nerves of steel, because aside from the occasional calm "Whoa!", Watson showed absolutely no signs of panicking. Quite the contrary, he seemed to be (mostly) silently enjoying it to the fullest. He only told me to slow down once, when his pistol started coming out of his holster within his coat.

"Hey, what are you doing? You'll fall off, there's nothing supporting you!" The doctor yelled panicked for the first time as I sat up completely on top of Cloudjumper. I smiled to myself. He didn't observe that Cloudjumper slowed down ever so slightly, angled his body so that I could stand and that there was virtually no wind where I had done this stunt.

"Don't worry, I do this all the time. Even if I fall, Cloudjumper catches me. And anyway, even in the unlikely scenario that something goes wrong, there's a doctor behind me." I said chuckling.

I stood there taking it all in; Hiccup and the other riders may have enjoyed dragon-riding as much as I did, but when you are able to stand on your dragon and when you have twenty years of experience doing it is something else entirely. I signal Cloudjumper to do some spinning.

"Hope you don't have motion sickness!" I say to Watson just before Cloudjumper gained attitude and began his spinning descent, his second pair of wings coming as a significant advantage for the stunt. Once again, I was surprised at the Doctor's almost complete lack of panic. Aside from the involuntary heavy breathing and occasional very low cry of surprise, he showed no signs whatsoever of losing his composture. His breathing, while heavy, was very deliberate, and I'm sure he was using some Army breathing technique to keep his calm. If a man survived dodging bullets in scorching heat, was forced to watch his own comrades getting hacked to pieces with machetes and then becomes a crime fighter and doctor, few things can make him panic, I thought.

After a while, Cloudjumper stopped spinning right before he hit the ground and then took off at full speed again. Maybe it was because Dr. Watson was one of the most hardened men I've ever met, or maybe it was simply because he was too proud to be scared in front of a woman, but he was more calm than any of the Academy youths were on their first serious flight. Now that I think about it, it must have been both.

"I have to say, Doctor, I'm impressed." I say glancing back at him. His eyes were narrowed and concentrated as if he was facing a formidable foe, but his gaze instantly softened when I looked at him, so that I didn't think that he was looking that way at me. Either way, it was pretty obvious that his look and heavy, yet calm and deliberate breathing were to keep his cool under extreme pressure such as this.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"You didn't panic once during our trip." I responded

Watson snorted and looked at the thick leather straps holding him in place.

"Why should I panic? The only way I can fall is either if these straps fail, or Cloudjumper loses control. Since either prediction is problematic and unlikely, I have no reason whatsoever to panic." He said very matter-of-factly, sounding a bit like his friend, Sherlock Holmes.  
>I chuckle and I continue a soft ascension.<br>I suddenly hear Watson do something that I didn't think I'd hear him do after he stood calm during Cloudjumper's most relentless stunts: he screamed in panic. When I turned my head around I saw the reason: his hat was missing. The doctor didn't need to tell me to go after it. During my time with dragons, it was by no means uncommon for me to have something fly out of my satchel.

I quickly calculate where the hat must have fallen. Thankfully, there was little to no wind, so I didn't have to also take that in consideration.

"Please tell me that you can see it!" said Watson, undisguised concern and fear in his voice. I found it utterly hilariously fascinating that a man so brave, strong and intelligent cared so much about a simple hat. I landed in a clearing in the middle of a small island which was somewhat near the Sanctuary (well, not _that _near, but some of the dragons' eyesight can see the Sanctuary from here. Hiccup learned that with Toothless the hard way: when he landed here with Toothless a few weeks after the battle with Drago, Toothless spotted the Sanctuary and he remembered everything: it took two days for me, Hiccup and the rest to get Toothless to eat something, he felt _that _guilty)

I look around for the doctor's dark grey hat, but before I can spot it, Watson ran to it, dusted it and put it back on his head with an absolutely relieved smile. He then bent over, putting his hands over his knees and began breathing heavily. Clearly, the flight had fatigued him more than he showed.

"-Are you alright, Doctor?

-Yes, yes. I'm just… not as young as I used to be. Phew… that was amazing! You are one remarkable creature!" he said tapping Cloudjumper a couple of times with a smile on his face. Cloudjumper growled contently, rubbing his head into Watson's hand. I couldn't help but smile.  
>Out of all the reactions of the people who met dragons when they were relatively unfamiliar with them (or at least unfamiliar with their good side), I have to say that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson's reactions were easily the most friendly. I expected to have to lecture them that when dragons were understood, they were easily the kindest and most human of creatures on Earth and that Holmes' and Watson's skepticism about dragons to last for a while, but no! It took a special kind of person to accept dragons so quickly, and I admired both he and his friend for it.<p>

"Let's rest here for a while." I proposed. Watson sat down on a rock and took out a notebook and a pencil. He looked around him, as if to help him think of what to write. He then began writing.

"Such an unusual and amazing adventure is worth putting on paper." He said before I could ask him what he was doing.  
>I suddenly felt an unjustified, yet healthy feeling of fear and worry swimming in my chest.<p>

"Doctor, you won't publish it, won't you?" I asked in much more panic than I intended, but I couldn't help it.

"Of course not!" he said almost with indignation. I felt a little embarrassed for my inquiry. _Of course _he wouldn't publish it.

"-If you must know, Valka, most of my adventures with Holmes have been put on paper, but I didn't publish them all. If I did, then my volumes would be enough to fill up an entire bookcase. I don't publish stories when doing so compromises our clients' safety, or if publishing it would reveal secrets which the world is not yet ready to know. One very good example is the case of The Awakaned.

-The Awakened?

-Yes." He said shuddering ever so slightly. I realized that whatever this case was, it must have been truly a terrifying experience to affect someone as hardened as Dr. Watson. I decided to ask him about it later.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asks me. I look at him and he was now holding a small silver box what I assume was a cigarette case.

"Doctor, I've lived for twenty years with creatures that can breathe fire, do you really think I mind if you breathe a little smoke?" I say smiling. He chuckled.

"I suppose not. But common courtesy dictates that when one is in the presence of a lady, he is obliged to not smoke unless granted the lady's express permission, particularly when the lady in question is not used to tobacco smoke." He said jokingly yet seriously at the same time. Three cigarettes and one drink of water from a stream from the island later, the doctor proposed that we returned to Berk, and I agreed; since I had more experience with dragons than anyone else on the island, I had my work cut out for me, so the flight on Cloudjumper had to be cut short, so I could reach The Academy in time.

I had spent twenty years with them, so I was much better than anyone else at training dragons, keeping them in place or teaching the youngsters how to befriend them.

Twenty years…

I still didn't forgive myself for leaving Hiccup and Stoick behind, and I probably never will. During my twenty years with the dragons, hardly a day passed by without me thinking that I could return to Berk, or at least send Stoick a message that I was alive, but I always decided against it: what if the Berkians shot me out of the sky and I was captured? What if they had killed Cloudjumper? What if Stoick accused me of treason and had me punished before I could even say a thing? I knew that my husband loved me more than anything else, but he still was more loyal to the "Viking code" which said that the dragons were our sworn enemies and that anyone who even _considers _them anything more than merciless killing machines deserves to be exiled at best and executed at worst. What if he would be angry with me? What if he had found another woman? What if… There were so many "What-ifs" which always led me to stop considering the possibility of returning to Berk.

In other words, I was too much of a coward to make peace between the Vikings and the dragons. Hiccup managed to do it, maybe if I had only _tried _to make peace, I'd have done it. Then maybe Hiccup wouldn't have suffered all those years because he didn't have a mother. Maybe fifteen more years of slaughter would have been prevented if I had the courage to step up and show everyone what dragons truly are. Maybe Stoick wouldn't have been killed…

"Hey. Are you alright? Here." Said the doctor's concerned voice as he handed me his handkerchief with his initials. I looked at the piece of cloth in confusion for a minute before I realized why he handed me the handkerchief: I had let a single tear escape the corner of my right eye. I just turned away from him and just brushed away the single tear from my eye. I felt a rush of blood going into my cheeks and I realized I was blushing.

"Sorry, Doctor. I'm… acting very childishly." I eventually manage to say. I expected Watson to just nod and fold the handkerchief back into his coat pocket. What I _didn't_ expect him to do was to look at me sympathetically and say:

"-Valka, there is absolutely nothing childish about mourning the loss of a loved one, especially since you lost him before he could ever truly be with you again. I have shed tears for far more trivial reasons.

-H-how did you know I was thinking about Stoick?" I asked.

"I'm a widower myself, remember? In the first year after losing Mary there was hardly any thought I could process through my brain without somehow thinking of her. I know what it's like. Besides, what other reasons would you have right now for crying for seemingly nothing?" he said with friendliness and sympathy.

"-Yes… I don't know what to do… everyone keeps telling me that it wasn't my fault Stoick died, and for some reason, no one is angry at me for leaving Berk for twenty years! I tell you, Doctor, if Stoick or Hiccup would have slapped me, it would have been somewhat of a relief. Their total and unconditional forgiveness for every wrong I had brought upon them was, in its own way, more guilt inducing than any angry response they could have given me.

-I too felt guilty for Mary's death." Said Watson.

"-I've already explained _why _I felt guilty: she had died because of my incompetence as a doctor. I still didn't _truly _forgive myself, but the pain of losing her has now dulled, although it still hurts. If you want some advice: give it some time, and think about what you have- unlike you, I didn't have any close friends or family to pick me back up after Mary died, and I went on with my life, granted, it did take me awhile to get out of my depression. But, the few true friends I had back then: Inspector Lestrade, Gregson, Mrs. Hudson and my fellow doctors helped me in what way they could, even though we weren't that close as friends. You have your son, your daughter-in-law, your other friends…

-Thank you, Doctor." I said with a sincere smile. He then coughed audibly.

"-Sorry, I don't know why I told you all this. I just…

-Sorry!? Doctor, you just helped a woman momentarily get over a recent tragedy.

-Yeah… Let's go." he said, but for some reason, he was embarrassed. Was it because he thought what he said to be inappropriate? Quite the contrary, he was very polite, yet at the same time helped me get over my daily depression! Just as we were gathering what little things we scattered on the ground, I hear Cloudjumper growling.  
>I look at him and his flattened ears, narrowed eyes and bent posture meant one thing: There were people nearby, and they weren't particularly friendly. Watson also noticed Cloudjumper's posture. He didn't need to be an expert in dragons to realize what this meant. He drew his revolver with a cat-like move, grabbed his stick with his other hand and looked in the direction where Cloudjumper was looking and shouted:<p>

"Come out! Don't try to jump us! We know you're there, blackguards!" Out of the shadows came two young beardless Vikings: a redhead and a dark haired man. They were both carrying daggers on their belts and they were smiling smugly.

"What do you want?" I asked as firmly as I could.

"Us? Nothing! We were just having a little excursion!" said the red hair with an air superiority. I didn't buy it, and neither did Watson:

"Excursion? Come on, you're here to trap dragons." Said Watson dryly with his revolver pointed at the both of them.

"-No, guv. We ain't doin' that kind of stuff. We won't harm you!

-Really? You've left weapons back at your camp!" said Watson, his narrowed hazel eyes betraying no emotion other than concentration and readiness to fight. "-No, we didn't, guv! I told ye that we're good fellas!

-Really? You're carrying nothing but daggers, but the empty scabbards around your waists were designed to carry small hand axes. And one of you has arrows on his back, but no crossbow or bow. You've left your weapons at the camp. But why build a small camp on a nowhere little island like this? Because you have a just installed a bola thrower. You've only just arrived, since right now you were scouting, not expecting anyone else, hence your lack of weapons. I believe that you are not affiliated with the Berserkers or Drago's Trappers, you are just mercenaries who hunt dragons, alive preferably, and sell to the highest bidder.

-Heh, heh! You're a smart little guy! Alright, we won't harm you, we only catch wild dragons!" said one of the two. I felt my anger building up and decided to give them a piece of my mind, while still keeping my cool. I knew that these two rogues weren't dangerous: just two youngsters, barely eighteen, from some gods-forsaken tribe scraping over money by hunting and trapping dragons and most likely selling them to Drago or some other mad chief, but I sure wasn't going to put up with them hunting dragons. I stepped over to them while signaling Cloudjumper to stay put.

"-I'm only going to warn you once, boys to stop hunting dragons. They can be befriended, as I'm sure you've seen. And the people I'm sure you've been doing business with, Dagur, Drago or some other insane chief, they may fool you into thinking that you're independent, but they're using you. By making an enemy of dragons, you make an enemy of Berk. That's all I have to say.

-Ha, ha! Sven, I like this broad! She's polite! Kind of dumb, but polite!" said one of them while elbowing his companion as they both burst into laughter.

"But, I'm a lot _less _polite, you smug blackguard!" said Watson coldly as he holstered his gun and instead held his ebony black stick at the ready and marched over to them.

"So pray allow me to put this in much ruder terms that even a pair of moronic ruffians like you might understand." Continued the doctor with a warning tone that made even _me _cringe, taking steps towards one of the mercenaries. Watson was quite an intimidating sight: he was about Hiccup's height, give or take half an inch, but he was nearly as stocky and broad-shouldered as any Viking.

In fact, if one was to replace his exquisite grey suit with fur pants and a sleeveless tunic, his bowler hat with a horned helmet and his elegant, carefully brushed moustache with something a little less groomed, anyone would have mistaken him for a reasonably strong, if not very tall (not very tall by Viking standards, for Watson is just over six feet) Viking.

"The only reason why you're not rotting in Berk's dungeon right now is because you're small fry; and we don't waste our time with small fry. Now, you stay away from the dragons, you stay away from Berk, and most importantly, you stay away from _me._" Continued Watson on a warning tone as he kept on taking steps towards the man, forcing him to take steps backwards.

"Is that clear enough for you, you bastard?" finished Watson on a tone that could have made water freeze as the man was now properly backing against a tree trunk from the intimidating doctor. The man who was involuntarily cowering from the doctor ran the nail of his thumb over his own throat while looking at his companion who was behind Watson. It didn't take a genius to realize what that meant.

The other man tried to wrap his arms around Watson's neck from behind, but since he caught the signal of the other man, he ducked under and rammed the knob of his stick into his attacker's stomach: Hard.  
>That was not enough to put him out of action completely, but enough for Watson to be able to turn his attention to his other opponent. Cloudjumper growled and opened his mouth, but I stopped him: if he fired a shot towards Watson and the two men, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't also hurt Watson. Besides, something told me that the doctor would be able to get his point across much better if he took those two on his own.<p>

His other opponent clumsily drew his dagger and thrust it forward, hoping to finish Watson off with a single blow, but Watson blocked the dagger with his cane, forcing it to go downwards and then headbutted his would-be killer, knocking him down and kicking the dagger from his hand. The other man was just getting up to try and hit Watson, but the doctor drew his sword out of the stick, pointing its sharp end at his attacker's throat. The message was clear: one more step and you're dead.  
>The man whom Watson had headbutted and disarmed was getting up, but was stopped by the barrel of the former soldier's revolver pointed at his chest. Although I'm sure that the ruffian had never seen a pistol before, it didn't take much imagination talent to figure out that it was a very dangerous weapon and that he ought to stay put. Besides, although firearms were not used by anyone around the Archipelago, they weren't unheard of.<p>

Watson had the two rogues at sword-point and gunpoint respectively in about five seconds. It was so quick, that it was over before me and Cloudjumper could even intervene. Watson eventually stepped away from them while sheathing his sword and holstering his gun, all while staring coldly at his two opponents. He then stepped away.  
>He didn't beat them too badly, but the message was clear: mess with dragons, you mess with Berk. Mess with Berk, you mess with me. You mess with me, it will end poorly for you.<p>

"Oh, and just in case you're thinking of attacking me from behind…" said Watson threateningly as he turned around. After turning to face the two men, he took a large Berkian coin from his trouser pocket and his pistol from his coat holster. He then threw the coin in the air and then he shot the pistol in the direction of the coin. Outside of the deafening sound of the gun discharging, I heard the faint sound of metal clanging against metal.

'_No way.' _I thought. '_There is no way he is _that_ good at shooting!' _The coin fell down and Watson picked it up and turned it on both sides while gazing at our two attackers. Sure enough, there was a hole in it, about large enough for one to stick their little finger through it.  
>I couldn't see Watson's gaze from where I was standing, but if I did, I'm sure it would have been nothing short of terrifying as the two mercenaries turned the other way and walked away almost instantly.<p>

"What a waste of good Berkian money." Said Watson shaking his head as he came back towards me.

"Nice shot." I say smiling. Even Cloudjumper seemed appreciative of Watson, nuzzling him, to which he responded by patting him friendily. Watson later explained to me that he was only able to shoot the coin because there was no wind, the Berkian coin was very large and because he waited until the coin was only a few inches away from the gun. Either way, it still was a very impressive shot.

"Well, I don't think those fine fellows will be bothering us anymore!" said Watson with a smirk as he helped me gather the few supplies we scattered.

"You sure made quick work of those two. There were two of them, how did you subdue them that quickly?" I asked.

"They didn't know how to fight." He answered simply. "They were telegraphing all their moves. Any man or woman with even the slightest experience in combat could have taken those two." Continued Watson coolly.

Suddenly, just as I was about to attach the last satchel to Cloudjumper's saddle, I heard my dragon screech with fright. Before I could even think why he did this, Cloudjumper jumped behind us and I could hear a sound which terrified me: arrows whizzing in the air, and one second later, the unmistakable sound of arrows hitting flesh.  
>It made me feel sick and overwhelmed with guilt: Cloudjumper had just put himself between us and the arrows to save us. Judging by the sound of the arrows, there were more than just those two shooting at us- they had brought friends while we were clearing the makeshift camp. Watson cursed angrily as he saw that Cloudjumper was hurt and he then dived behind a rock, his revolver already in his hand. I also dived behind a tree trunk, only about three feet away from Watson.<br>Luckily, I had managed to grab my long bullhook before taking cover. I certainly was grateful now that I was too lazy to take it out of Cloudjumper's satchel.

Cloudjumper fired a torus of fire to scatter the archers. I found it utterly unbelievable that they were able to commit murder simply because Watson had the bravery to stand up to them. They may not have been an immediate threat to Berk, but if they were capable to kill two people and a dragon simply because of an insult, then it was clear that it was them or us.

"I did warn you!" yelled Watson as he fired a shot over the rock, getting back into cover just in time to not get caught by an arrow. Judging by the yell of pain that followed the shot, the bullet had not been wasted. Cloudjumper was firing sustained tornado-like flames to scatter the archers that were trying to flank us.

"Stay here and keep your head down!" Watson said to me as he dived gracefully over to a tree trunk in order to get a better position over the archers. Despite his stocky build, he was able to cover himself completely behind the tree. There were at least ten of them, well nine, now that Watson had shot one of them. The rain of arrows momentarily stopped and I realized why: most of them were using crossbows which took time to reload.  
>Taking a risk, I charged towards a mercenary who was confident enough to stay in the open while reloading his crossbow. He noticed me at the last moment, but one moment was all I needed: I slammed my bullhook right on his jaw, causing him to fall with a heavy thud. I hit him again as he tried getting up after the first blow. Honestly, he would have probably been able to take me down, had he paid attention, he was young and rather muscular and his crossbow made a formidable club, but I managed to take him by surprise and use what little combat experience I had in order to subdue him.<p>

I looked to Cloudjumper who was breathing his tornado-like flame in order to disperse the mercenaries. Cloudjumper certainly did make up for the fact that we were outnumbered. As Cloudjumper turned for another attack I noticed the arrows that were sticking out of his side. It made me sick. I wanted to rush to him and take care of his wounds, but we'd have to take care of the mercenaries first.

Another crossbowman was ready to shoot, and I saw that he was aiming straight at Cloudjumper's neck! I also noticed a bottle of something on his belt. Then it hits me: He was the leader of whatever group this was, judging by his crossbow which was much better made than the ones of his comrades, as well as his belt which was a rather expensive Monstrous Nightmare hide belt. And since he was the richest of them, he could have afforded poison for arrows. He wanted to kill Cloudjumper with poison, not tranquilize him.

"Cloudjumper, look out!" I yell at the top of my lungs, but it was too late…

Cloudjumper was doomed…

I close my eyes...

*_**BANG!**_* I look up to where I saw the leader of the group. He didn't have the chance to fire his poisoned arrow: Watson was standing about twenty feet away, his gun pointed at him and smoke rising from the barrel, and the young leader sprawled lifeless on the ground. I made a mental note to thank the doctor from the bottom of my heart for doing that: had he not shot the man, the poison would have acted far too quickly for Watson or myself to treat Cloudjumper before he died.  
>Suddenly, one of the larger goons charged Watson. The doctor was shooting at the few crossbowmen who were crazy enough to remain after Cloudjumper's fierce attacks, so he didn't notice the man until it was too late. The goon was not presently armed, he only had a small axe on his belt, but he was able to tackle Watson to the ground, knocking his gun out of his hand in the process.<p>

I charged toward them, determined to whack Watson's attacker in the ribs with my bullhook. I noticed movement to my right as I was running to Watson and his burly attacker. I couldn't turn around before it was too late and I was myself knocked down by another mercenary. By his looks, he couldn't have been older than eighteen, and for some reason he had a burning hatred in his almost red eyes, as if he had something very personal against me.

I hit him with my bullhook hard enough to knock him off me. I figured that was enough and I once again charge to the mercenary who was pinning Watson to the ground. I was a good few meters away from them, so it took me awhile to reach them. I saw that Watson had managed to shake the large man off him and they were now fighting on equal terms.

The goon drew his axe and swung it at the doctor, but he dodged and managed to grab his stick with which he struck the man in the head with the steel knob, but somehow that only fazed him without knocking him out. Just before I manage to reach Watson and help him, the young man whom I had hit with my bullhook tackles me once again. I try to hit him with my bullhook, but this time he parries and grabs my weapon and to my horror, he began to push it down towards my neck to strangle me!  
>I push back with all my strength, but he was younger and stronger, I could only delay the inevitable. I look around for help: Watson was still busy fighting that man: Watson may have been the more experienced and cunning fighter as well as the fact that his stick was longer than his opponent's short axe, not to mention that he could have drawn his sword out of the stick anytime, but his opponent was just as strong, younger and half a head taller, so I knew that although victory could only be on Watson's side, it would be a fight on equal terms, and the doctor couldn't help me before he had defeated his opponent.<p>

Cloudjumper was still driving away the few men that remained, but they didn't want to retreat without a fight, so they were constantly hiding in places out of reach for Cloudjumper's flame. There was no way he could have turned around and helped me without getting hit by more arrows and bolts. The simple thought of him getting even more injured or even killed simply because I was too cowardly to fight someone on my own made my heart feel like an icy pit and made my stomach churn with disgust at my own thoughts.

Before I can look for another way out, I feel all my breath getting knocked out of me. I try to breathe, but I can't, the only result being a very weak yelp from me. When I looked up, I could see why: The staff had reached my throat. With all my might, I push on my staff with both of my hands, but that damned mercenary was far stronger than I, and he had his hands in a better position, and my struggle only seemed to add to his own strength.

"You know that fort you destroyed with your Bewilderbeast months ago?" asked the villain as I kept on struggling against the dreadful fate of me being killed by my own weapon. To my surprise, his grip ceased, but only a little bit. I realized that he just wanted me to remain alive long enough for him to say whatever he wanted to say.

"My brother was in that fort. He never got out. You killed him, you damned dragon lover, you traitor to your own species!" He hissed with more hatred that I thought a man as young as him to be capable of.  
>Oh no! When I froze that fort… there were still trappers in it? I had thought that they were all on the ships! I felt self-hate enter my every pore, almost as much as when I realized how much Hiccup and Stoick had suffered due to my absence.<br>My vision was beginning to fail me. My arms went limp, despite my efforts to push the bullhook off my throat.

Hiccup had told me what it was like to be strangled. He had nearly died due to being hanged. He said that you feel as if nothing in the world matters in that point other than for you to get air. Even if you know that your throat is blocked by something, you gasp without your own consent. You cannot control your body. The desire for air in your throat feels life a thousand knives stabbing themselves in your jugular.  
>He had told me all this after he had woken up after a nightmare in which he recalled the night in which he nearly died of strangulation, and he was right.<p>

Only that it was even worse than I had imagined… The corners of my vision went black and hazy. I would die, killed by my own weapon.  
>An appropriate death, I thought. All the evil I did to Hiccup and Stoick and to myself was done by my own hand. I abandoned them, simply because I thought them incapable of making peace with the dragons.<p>

Hiccup…

I had only a few months since I could call him son, and I already loved him more than anything else. I longed to make up for lost time, lost time which I had myself created. He had forgiven me without even a moment of being angry. It takes a special kind of person to forgive someone for abandoning you for twenty years.

Oh, no. What will his reaction be to my death? What would he do to the poor doctor who had absolutely no fault? But now, I thought, maybe I'd see Stoick again. I can almost see him through the realm of unconsciousness.

So close… Calling my name…

No! How could I be so selfish? I need to keep on living, for Hiccup, for my daughter in law, for Berk! Alas, but what power did I have? I was already on the brink of unconsciousness. The only thing that I was aware of was a need to breathe which burned more than anything that I had ever felt before.

_"I'm sorry, Hiccup. I've failed you. I have never been the mother you deserved. Please forgive me, and don't blame Dr. Watson or Cloudjumper, or yourself for that matter." _Were my final thoughts.

Suddenly, even in my nearly dead-unconscious state, I heard a snarl of rage from a vaguely familiar voice, the dull impact of fists on flesh, and a body falling over. I then realized that I no longer felt the weight of something upon me. I then realized that I was breathing! I was alive, and I could breathe, nothing else in the world mattered at that moment.

Never in my life had I been so grateful to breathe. I hear my dragon making sounds that I never heard him make before. Never had I heard Cloudjumper, one of the most proud dragons I had ever come across, make such pleading and crying moans of… begging?

"She's alright, don't worry, Cloudjumper. She's still got a pulse." Said Watson, but that didn't calm down my beloved dragon any. I now felt him nuzzling the side of my face, while making sounds which I knew from my years with him that he was begging me to wake up. I then felt a surge of air entering my lungs. It was a cleaner air than I had ever breathed, and I felt something metallic on my lips.  
>I slowly awake. The haze eventually turns into something much more clear. I see Cloudjumper with a look on his face which expressed more fear and sorrow than I had ever seen him have before. He occasionally looked to Watson with a look which said<p>

"_Please, please save her! Please!_" I then see that my would-be killer was sprawled unconscious a few feet away. I realize that it was Watson ho must have fought him, because if Cloudjumper had gotten his claws on someone who tried to kill me, I'm sure that he would have torn him to shreds or burned him alive. The metallic device which gave me air was a small, red tube, about the length from my wrist to the tip of my fingers. Watson retracts it after a while and puts his hand underneath my nose to check for breath.  
>Judging from his satisfied expression and sigh of relief, he found it. I then properly open my eyes, much to the two's relief and joy.<p>

"Cloudjumper…" I say.

I don't even recognize the voice as my own. It was weak and croaked and saying it made my throat burn. But that was all that Cloudjumper needed. He gently pounced me, nuzzled me and licked as if my and his life depended on it. I can't help but chuckle at his emotional outburst. Cloudjumper was usually as serious as dragons got, he only very seldom had outbursts as this.

"Hey, don't do that! She's barely awoken after nearly dying, let her breathe!" yelled Watson as he futilely tried pushing Cloudjumper off me. Watson may have been a very strong man, being more than a match for even the stronger of Vikings, but Cloudjumper easily pushed him ten feet away without even being moved an inch.

"That's enough, Cloudjumper, get off me." I say softly, my voice slowly returning to its normal self. I then saw that the place where Watson fell was right next to a body. It was the young leader of whatever small mercenary-hunter group this was, whom Watson shot dead in order to save Cloudjumper from a poisoned arrow.  
>He quickly turned away, breathing heavily, covering his face with his gloved hand as if what he saw frightened and disgusted him more than anything else could. I rush over to him.<p>

"You look spooked, Doctor. I thought you had been under fire before." I say, instantly regretting my choice of words.

"It never gets any easier." He said hoarsely while looking away from my gaze. I sigh sadly as I watched the doctor. He may have done this before, but like he said, for a good soul, it _never _gets any easier.

"-You did the right thing, Doctor. If you hadn't shot him, he'd have killed Cloudjumper.

-Look at him. The boy wasn't even twenty-five." Responded Watson, still not making eye contact. But then, Cloudjumper nuzzled the doctor, making him turn to him. My dragon looked at him with a gaze which said more than a thousand words.

It said _"Thank you for saving my life. Don't blame yourself. And thank you for saving my rider." _Watson couldn't help but smile, even faintly at Cloudjumper's show of emotion.

It was then that he noticed that Cloudjumper was bleeding from the numerous arrows which hit him. I get up to retrieve my satchel which contained gauze and medicinal herbs.

"Valka, don't. I'm the doctor here." Said Watson as he pulled my hand away from my satchel and instead took his own medical bag, from which he had previously retrieved the small oxygen tube with which he helped regain my breath faster.  
>I didn't doubt Watson's medical skill, especially since combat trauma is his specialty. But he treated humans, not dragons, and I wanted to at least guide him. From his bag he retrieved a clean medical handkerchief, a bottle of what I assume was disinfectant, some bandages and… some tongs and a small scalpel, smaller, thinner and sharper than any scalpel that was used on berk.<p>

I cringe as I realize what he was going to do with those two tools, but he had to get the arrows and bolts out. I gave the doctor some tips on how to bandage the skin and retrieve the arrows without damaging the scales and he seemed to understand them surprisingly quickly.

"-Are you sure you can do this on your own, Dr. Watson?

-Yes. You should rest, you still haven't recovered, you're in no shape to offer medical care" He responded simply, yet confidently as he took the scalpel and tongs. Before starting, he looked straight at Cloudjumper and said:

"Right, old boy. I'm not going to lie: this is going to hurt. A lot. Try not to move."

And before he even finished the sentence, he got to work. I had treated Cloudjumper before. But this was the first time I watched someone do it in my place. Watson had insisted that I was too weak and tired to treat Cloudjumper after I nearly got strangled. He said that it took the brain awhile to return to its full capacity after being deprived of oxygen in that manner.  
>Cloudjumper's pain tolerance was amazing: He barely cringed or grimaced as Watson carefully removed the arrows with his tongs and scalpel. I already knew that the Stormcutters' pain tolerance was high: even by dragon standards, this wasn't the first time I saw Cloudjumper staying still under extreme pain.<p>

But even so, I couldn't help but marvel at his bravery as I saw how the scalper carved a way for the tongs to carefully pull them out, making sure that the arrows didn't break inside his flesh. It looked terribly painful, and I wanted to just go there and hug my dragon's head while he endured that terrible pain, but I knew that with his pride, he'd rather I didn't and let him deal with it on his own. Only when the doctor applied disinfectant did Cloudjumper allow a barely audible growl of pain escape his throat.

"Who were those men?" Watson asked as he began taping the bandages like I taught him: in a way that it ensured the scales wouldn't be damaged.

"-I don't know. But they were small fry. Just some youngsters from tribes around here who got together to hunt dragons, carve them up and sell their hides, claws and other… parts for money, sometimes catching them alive. My guess is that they didn't use tranquilizer darts on Cloudjumper because they couldn't afford them, since they just started this 'business', which is also why their fighting and tactics left a lot to be desired. Except for the one who pinned me that is… They are independent, and they don't answer to Drago or some other chief, although they are the ones they do business with the most. Now, if you ask me, the men that survived won't bother dragons again. After they failed to kill just one dragon and two riders, I'm sure they won't try to hunt dragons again.

-Still, I should make sure there aren't anymore of them on the island." Said Watson as he finished bandaging Cloudjumper's wounds.

"-I'll just go around the beach and make sure they haven't regrouped.

-Are you sure you can manage, Doctor? What if they're waiting for you?" As a response he scoffed and pulled his revolver out of his pocket in view and then put it back again.

"Stay with your dragon." He said as he went through the small woods and to the beach. Although I was worried for the doctor, he already proved that he could more than hold his own in a fight.  
>Besides, those "hunters" were running scared by the time we were done with them. I checked Cloudjumper's bandages to make sure that Watson had done a proper job.<br>Thankfully, he had taken full heed of my advice, and had placed the bandages accordingly to my recommendations.

"You were very brave. As always" I say to Cloudjumper as I touch his forehead. To my surprise, he jerked away from my touch with a moan as he looked to the ground in shame. I realize that he did this because he couldn't protect me from that vengeful hunter, and because if it hadn't been for Watson, I might be dead.

"It's alright, Cloudjumper. You did good. If you hadn't driven away those hunters, me and the doctor wouldn't have had a chance. Thank you." I say as softly as I can. I was glad that Cloudjumper seemed to take comfort from my words, but I could tell that he still was feeling ashamed of himself and that it would take him awhile to forgive himself.

"Valka! Cloudjumper! Come quick!" Watson's voice interrupted me from further trying to comfort Cloudjumper.

"-What is it, Doctor? -Just come, quick! There's no time!" Me and Cloudjumper quickly ran after the doctor. I was wondering just what could it be. If it had been an ambush, Watson wouldn't have had the chance to come running to us, not to mention that if he had gotten ambushed, Watson would have fired his gun, yet I heard no gunshots.  
>What then could it be that needed my and Cloudjumper's attention? We went to the edge of the woods, near the beach. The surviving mercenaries were rowing as fast as they could in a very small old wooden boat that was barely floating, but they couldn't see us from where we were standing, still shrouded in the woods. But that's not what the good doctor wanted to show me. He pointed to a beach on an adjoining island, a few hundred yards away, but I couldn't see it. He hands me a small pocket telescope and I look through it.<p>

"Whoa." I say amazed at what I saw. I couldn't believe it.

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><p><em><span><strong>Author's note:<strong>__** And yet another cliffie! XD**_

_**Sorry, but to** **make up for this, I'll just tell you that it won't end badly :P**_

**_Also, I've decided to take a few liberties with Watson's character. I've decided to give him a bit more of a "Clint Eastwood" personality, while still keeping parts of his original personality._**

**_If you're wondering, I decided to make Watson's fighting style based off good ol' British fisticuffs, together with making him an expert fencer and stick-fighter as well as one hell of a marksman (much like in Guy Ritchie's films. Man, by this time, my story is based more or those films than on the actual book canon. :P. In them, he's not as good at hand-to-hand as Holmes(who masters a lot of known martial arts and merged them into his own style), but he's a far better shooter.)_**

**_I found this chapter kinda hard to write, since it's basically just a link chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it!_**  
><strong><em>Don't worry, next chapter will be MUCH better, and with no cliffies! Promise! :3<em>**


	23. Chapter 22- It Was Worth Many Wounds

_**Author's note:**_

_**Hey, everyone! :D  
>I know I said I'd update within a week, but me and my family moved house, and as you can imagine, I had other things on my mind.<br>Also, shoutouts!**_

**_Omegaman17: he's a really good writer who has given me some of the most encouraging and inspiring reviews and PMs_**_ **I had EVER recieved! Thanks, bro!**_

_**silverwolvesarecool: She's a decent fic writer, currently writing an HTTYD\Flash crossover. She was my first regular reviewer, and frankly, without her, I'd have given up on this fic a long time ago. Thanks, girl! :D  
><strong>_

_**NightsAnger: I've already given him a shoutout before, but he deserves it! He gives me the most critical and analytical reviews! Reviews that help me become a better writer! Thanks, man! And be sure to check out his HTTYD fic "In Darkness" it's really awesome!**_

_**BeyondTheClouds777: One of the best, if not THE best HTTYD fic writer. She's written more than 80 stories and oneshots, each of them more amazing than the other. It has some of the most gripping stories EVER! Also, very cute Hiccstrid, angst stories (even one in which Toothless dies. Yup she went there! She's got balls, I'll give her that! XD), and basically any type of HTTYD story you can think of. My only problem with her is that sometimes she can't decide whether she wants Hiccup to be a pussy or a hardened badass, and she ends up making him a bit of both, which is really frikin weird. She hasn't actually reviewed my story, but she's helped with ideas via PMs, so thank you! :)**_

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><p><em><strong>Holmes:<strong> _I had done it.

I had managed to block out my emotions long enough in order for me to form an adequate plan of action. Normally, blocking out my emotions was easy. I only needed to reason with myself that emotions only clouded my judgement, and that it was best not to have any.  
>But now…<p>

Every time I came close to forming a plan, Toothless, suffering because of my selfish actions would appear in my head and everything fell back. But, finally I had done it.  
>I had overheard the guards saying that they will change posts in ten minutes. Ten minutes in which I had time to take what I needed. It made me sick thinking that it would be ten more minutes in which Toothless would have to suffer, but going on deck now would be suicide, for me <em>and <em>Toothless. I go into the first room after I retrieved my equipment from the storeroom.  
>It was a kitchen or mess hall of sorts. There was already a pot boiling, some sort of fish soup, I deduced from the smell, as well as the fact that the chef put way too much salt and too little potatoes, therefore he isn't the most competent of cooks. And since the pot is boiling, the cook will need to return soon to continue preparing the large meal.<br>The soup would need to be stirred after approximately fifteen minutes and eleven seconds, but because the cook's skills leave a lot to be desired, he will most likely come here ten minutes later, alongside his companions.

I look around for something useful and I find some spices. I pick the strongest and hottest ones and stuff them in my pocket, they would come in handy later. I glance at my pocket-watch, still quite a few minutes to spare.  
>Thankfully, I had managed to halt my emotions, at least for the time being, so I no longer thought of Toothless, as long as I didn't try to focus my hearing and heard his muffled yells. There were two more doors.<p>

One was unlocked, a few beds, the sleeping quarters, nothing of interest here, just some personal items belonging to the crew, so I didn't even bother looking here. The other door was what I was interested in: it had to be the captain's personal quarters.  
>I take out my lockpicks and get to work. Thankfully, the lock was a very rudimentary one, so it didn't take long before I heard the familiar and satisfying click of the tumblers opening.<br>I open the door. Despite the fact that there was only one bed, the room was nearly as large as the crew's quarters. As soon as one opened the door, one would be able to see some Monstrous Nightmare and Nadder heads hung up on the wall.

There was no way that the young captain had killed those two dragons, he must have bought them so that he could show off and lie about his achievements. And I was right. Although the heads were stuffed, I was able to deduce that those dragons had been killed before that captain was even born by observing the skin tissue. But I also observe by focusing my vision fingerprints from greasy fingers across the board of one of them. Using a secret hatch after eating food without wiping your fingers beforehand is a dumb move. I push it aside and… presto!  
>Papers and a large amount of Viking money. The money was of no interest to me, but the stack of documents was. For the first time since me and Toothless got captured, a grin spread on my face as I took the papers and stuffed them in one of my equipment satchels.<p>

But then I notice that some of the papers were not the rough, brown coloured, archaic paper that was found around the archipelago, but it seemed to be high-quality British stationery. The high-quality papers were tied together with a string and along with them was a note written in Old Norse. But judging by the shape of the letters, whoever wrote it was a man used with the Latin alphabet, a man of a genius intellect, strongly built, right handed, had both hands as I noticed a very faint fingerprint of the left hand on the paper (so it couldn't be Drago who wrote them), a very creative and meticulous man. But, I also deduced from his writing narcissism, lack of empathy and… moral insanity…  
>I frown. I had seen that hand before… No, it wasn't Drago's, someone else…<p>

No!

It couldn't be _him_! He… he was good as dead. A shiver runs through my entire body and sweat forms on my brow as I inevitably think of the only man whom I have ever been afraid of. Well… not really afraid, but an emotion very close to that anyway… No! It wasn't _him_! It couldn't be! I block away my thoughts. I had defeated him in 1891 at Reichenbach. He was gone. It was over… Anyway, I doubted that _he _could persuade Drago to do _his_ bidding or vice-versa, as they were both way too proud to take orders from another man.

The note read: "_Captain, take these plans to Drago Bludvist. You have so far been successful in completing this task, and I fail to see how you could fail such simple an assignment as to deliver plans. However, I am obliged to remind you that should you fail still, Bludvist shall punish you… accordingly._

There was no doubt in my mind: whoever wrote this was an educated and rather wealthy Englishman. Wealthy because of how expensive the ink and stationery used to write this was. I would read these later. There wasn't enough time left for me to-  
>Suddenly I hear the hatch opening and I deduce from the footsteps that there were four men coming in.<p>

"Ha ha! That was some show! Too bad we didn't get to kill the beast!" said one of the crewmen. As he said this I felt my blood grow cold as I realized that he was talking about Toothless getting tortured. I knew that if Toothless would suffer life-long trauma because of this, I would never forgive myself.

"You think? It stopped moving after the cap beat it over the head with the club." Upon hearing his friend's response, it all but gasped with disbelief and the corners of my vision went fuzzy and I felt sick, as if I was going to pass out. They doubted that Toothless was still alive? Oh, no, no.  
>If it weren't for the fact that I knew that they'd find out where I was if I did so, I'd have gasped aloud while saying "<em>no, no, no, it can't be!<em>" over and over.  
><em><br>No, stop worrying. Emotions only cloud the judgement. But… Toothless might be dead. He might be dead… No! Worry about that later! Block out all emotions… Become the thinking_ _machine, not the man_.

I managed to do it yet again; block out all emotions. If I was to help Toothless, I needed to keep my emotions in check. I then become aware that my eyes felt moist and stinging. I had nearly cried. The guards dispersed and I went towards the cell, making sure I wasn't spotted. My black flight suit, lean frame along with my natural sneaking ability and training meant that I could easily hide even in the even in this small ship.  
>The guard that was supposed to change posts with the guard whom I had incapacitated would undoubtedly notice his friend's absence. I had put him on the cell bed and wrapped him up in blankets so it looked as if I was sleeping, but his face was not visible and I knew that as soon as the guard saw that his friend was missing and that I was supposedly sleeping soundly when I knew that Toothless was getting beaten he would investigate.<p>

"Ralof? Where are you?" I heard. There was no time to waste. Thankfully, the other guards went either to the sleeping quarters or to the mess hall, so I had a clear path all the way to him. I then notice something on his belt. It was a whip. With my superior vision I am able to see, even in the darkness of the ship… very faint blood marks. I didn't need any deductive skill to realize whose blood that was… The feeling dread in my chest is replaced by rage.  
>Those bastards… How dare they call the dragons monsters when they themselves are torturing a defenceless being just for their amusement?<br>Before I even realize what I'm doing I find myself going towards that damned Berserker and grabbing him by the throat. His groans were inaudible and his attempts at kicking or punching me to escape my grasp are futile as even in my enraged state I am able to predict my opponent's moves before they even happen. Luckily, I came to my senses before I killed him, and instead I just push my thumb on a pressure point on his jugular, rendering him unconscious.

As for the other crew members, I quickly devised a plan. Inbetween the crew quarters and the mess hall I threw a bottle which I had in my satchel which shattered and also upset other objects.  
>The first part was obvious: The crewmen got out of both rooms, weapons drawn. But in the next moment they all collapsed unconscious.<br>What was _inside_ the bottle was the most important, a sedative of my own creation: a mixture of ether, opium, morphine and other various chemical and medical substances. Upon the bottle shattering, it released a vapour which was enough to put an elephant to sleep.  
>I open the hatch after I make sure by focusing my hearing that there was no one near it. Two guards were looking at the horizon to my left, about ten feet between them.<p>

"Psst! Hey!" I whisper to the one closest to me. He turned around confused. He only saw that the hatch was ajar and that someone wanted him in there. He then walked towards the hatch. I would never forget how stupid he was: going to an unknown voice without even announcing one of his comrades. He then entered the bowels of the ship.  
>"Did you guys need me?" he asked aloud, not being able to see his unconscious comrades because I had put out the candles near them.<br>"Yes, I was just looking for you." I answered slimly. He couldn't even turn around fully before I was able to knock him out with a well-placed knee to the gut in order to silence him and a powerful cross to the jaw to finish the job.

"Hey, Fjar! Where'd ya go?" asked the other guard as he came towards the hatch. As soon as he opened the hatch I grabbed his ankle and pulled him in. I was about to hit him again when I noticed that it was not necessary: the fall had already been quite a blow. I get up on the deck. To my relief, they had left Toothless alone, and most guards were now either chatting or watching the horizon.  
>I notice Toothless, bound up and… he wasn't moving... Oh, no, if they truly had beaten him to death, I…I didn't even know what I'd do then. For the first time in my life, I didn't know… No! Think of that later!<br>Luckily there were some crates and barrels which covered me from the rest of the ship. Speaking of the barrels… I cut off the rope holding the barrels and they roll towards a group of Berserkers chatting near the centre. They notice them too late and the barrels shatter, knocking them out.

"Hey, what the Hel was that!?" yelled the captain. I jump to the middle of the ship, a very elaborate plan of attack to incapacitate the whole crew in my head. They were all quite far away from Toothless, so they couldn't threaten him to stop me. One of the crewmen swung his axe at me, but I catch his wrist and put my other arm on his elbow and push him down in a painful submission, nearly breaking his arm and then knocking him out with my elbow.

The rest of the crewmembers attack me all at once. This is where the spices come in: I throw them into the eyes of one group so I can focus on the other. One of them manages to punch me hard enough for me to lose my balance and briefly lose my vision. I then hear a dagger coming out of a scabbard: he was going to stab me. Desperately, I quickly deduce the position of the dagger by the faint sound of splitting air. I manage to dodge and grab the hilt and I throw him over me by using my own body as leverage.  
>Disarmed and put down, I kick him in the head to make sure he stayed down. One of the spice-stunned guards didn't get hit full in the eye, so he recovered and attacked me with a sledgehammer-like weapon.<br>I dodge just in the nick of time and punch him down, but then I catch sight of Toothless… Not moving, small pools of blood around him…

No! I needed to make sure that he was alive, otherwise I knew that I wouldn't be able to focus.  
>I watch him carefully, feeling the cold pit in my stomach grow larger and more painful than even the furious punch that I had received earlier. I focus my vision to see the slight swell of his chest as he breathed. If he did do that, I didn't see it, because the hammer-wielder was not defeated by just one punch.<br>He swung his weapon at me, the only thing which saved me from getting brained were my highly-trained reflexes, but he still managed to strike my shoulder: Hard.

The pain was tremendous, in fact I deduced that if he had hit me any harder he'd have dislocated my shoulder. I fall a few feet away on my back, my ears ringing from sheer pain. I knew that he would now try to smash my head in. I use Indian mind techniques to dull the pain, although it wasn't much, it gave me the strength to get up. He swings it again, but this time I parry and I smash the hammerhead off the stick with one quick chop of the hand, leaving him with only a stick. Before he can even realize what I did, I knock him out with the hammerhead.  
>I then take the stick: it was quite long and sturdy (I nearly broke my hand by chopping it, despite the fact that I can easily do that to cinder blocks) and it was preferable to the short hammer. But the hammer would still be useful: I throw it at one of the Berserkers who were recovering from spice in the eye, and it connected with his head with a loud *CLANG!* and then he fell completely. I then charged to the few remaining Berserkers, doing my best not to look at Toothless, because I knew emotions would impend my ability to think and fight properly.<br>They were already weakened by spice in the eye: the stabbing pain and temporary blindness still hadn't subsided. Their axes and swords were easily disarmed with my staff and then they fell one by one under my blows.

As the adrenaline faded, I found myself breathing heavily, my wounds hurting more than ever. Sweat was coming down my brow and stinging my eyes. I was beaten and tired, but I had done it. I had defeated an entire Viking ship by my own.  
>I then hear someone clapping in mockery. I freeze. The sound was very near Toothless. In fact it was <em>exactly <em>where Toothless was… I remember that I didn't beat the captain… NO! TOOTHLESS!

I turn around, and he was just inches away from Toothless, a longsword in his hands with a triumphant and terrible grin on his face, and I knew that he was too far away for me to tackle him before he killed Toothless. Never had the look of a man frightened me like that, because I knew what he was going to do. My knees and lips were trembling, the icy pit in my chest was wider and icier than ever.

"Well, you're not that much of a fishbone, then, Hiccup Haddock" said the captain slimly.

"I'm no fool, _oh great Chief of Berk_, I know from the way you've handled my men that I can't beat you. But I _can _kill your best friend!" he said heartlessly. To my horror he raised the longsword above Toothless' throat and was ready to pommel!

I couldn't watch.

Haddock's best friend had been killed and tortured because of me. Toothless, the very same dragon who had been so quick to accept me as a companion, despite my abominable behaviour, the same one that played with me in a way with which he only played with his rider and closest friends. The same dragon who was The Alpha, for crying out loud, the same one who had saved so many lives nearly at the cost of his own, the only dragon to resist The Alpha's mind control.  
>Now Toothless, the last Night Fury was going to die because of me… My eyes were squeezed shut, yet I feel something wet sliding away from them.<p>

Tears.

For the first time in my life since I had found out that Watson's wife was dead and that I wasn't there for him I was crying, in my own way.

But then I remember it: my revolver.

More proof that emotions halt the thought: I couldn't remember something as simple as the fact that I was armed. I whip it out from under my belt, determined to shoot the young bastard who wanted to kill Toothless. I knew I didn't have time for an aimed shot. Watson was such a good marksman that he could shoot a coin from ten paces, but I wasn't that good. Unlike Watson, I hadn't spent a day in the military or on an actual battlefield. I could hold my own in a gunfight, but I wasn't a gunslinger like Watson. The chances that I would miss and that Toothless would be brutally murdered because of me in front of my very eyes was high, but I had to take the chance.  
>I know that it's blasphemy to pray for someone to get hit by a bullet, but I did just that as I pulled the trigger.<p>

The bullet itself seemed to go in slow motion as it traveled to the captain and Toothless. Then I see it: The captain falling over, crying in pain from the bullet, dropping his sword just a fraction of a second before it connected with the back of Toothless' neck.  
>I let out a deep, shuddering breath.<br>But then I realize that Toothless _still _wasn't moving. I watch him closely with my heart in my throat but I don't see the faint swell of his chest as much as I try. I nearly pass out.  
>I lean against a crate, for I didn't trust my knees not to buckle underneath me. But I come back to my senses somewhat. I scramble to him.<p>

He looked _dead. _

"Lord, please, no." I whisper. I didn't know what to do. The only being who had been as friendly to me as Watson, I had killed him. I raised my hand and took a moment to stop it from shaking.

He wasn't dead. He _couldn't_ be dead. I press my finger to the side of his throat, every second feeling like an hour as I waited to feel a pulse.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

I let out a huge breath. He was alive. Not only that, but his pulse seemed constant, he was in relatively good shape.

"Toothless! Toothless!" I yell, shaking him. He croons weakly and cracks open one eye to look at me. I instantly found myself recoiling from his gaze. I felt guiltier than I had ever felt in my life.  
>I open my mouth to say "sorry", but I close it back before I say anything.<p>

Sorry?

Was that all I had? _Nothing _was good enough to say to him after this. He had gone through perhaps the most humiliating and terrifying experience in his life because of me. I couldn't say _anything to him._

I hear the captain moaning behind me: the bullet had only wounded his shoulder.  
>I turn around and I see him trying to get up. An uncontrollable rage takes control of me and I kick him in his injured shoulder as hard as I could, my already impressive strength amplified by pure, unaltered fury. His scream of pain is nothing short of feral, but that doesn't stop me: he had made Toothless suffer, I'd be damned if I didn't offer his some eye-for-eye treatment.<p>

I kick him in the abdomen, leaving him so breathless that couldn't even scream anymore, but I wasn't even _close _to being finished.  
>After almost a minute of beating him around the ship I realize that it was enough: I had broken almost all his bones, I damn nearly broke <em>my own<em> knuckes from beating him that much. But I wasn't going to leave without leaving a message. I grab him by the throat with one hand and slam him against a crate, partially shattering it in a way that I'm sure would have put even Drago Bludvist to shame. Even though both his eyes were swollen shut, I could see how terrified he was. I give him my most menacing look, and he became even paler.

"Let me make this as clear as possible, you worthless vermin. Should you dare to _ever _hurt Toothless or Berk again in any way, shape or form, I'm coming back to finish the job. For you _and _your pathetic crew. Tell Drago and Dagur that they'll both end up like Maul. Their vast, villainous future is crumbling. And if you _dare_ to touch Toothless again, I'll beat you within an inch of your life and then I'll tell one of the dragons to finish the job: Slowly and painfully  
>. And if you had killed Toothless, you'd be dead right now. Are we understood?" I said all this with more hatred and venom than I had spat at anybody. Even when talking with Moriarty, my face and voice were completely unreadable. Only when Evans the Killer had shot Watson did I allow myself to degrade in such a manner.<p>

He was so frightened that he only managed to swallow hard and nod dumbly at my question. The adrenaline fades, but my heart was still beating hard in my eardrums. I turn and I see that Toothless had been watching me all the time with wide eyes. I couldn't meet his gaze for more than a second.  
>I had nearly killed him, and for that I felt more shame than I had in my life.<p>

Shame, fear, hatred, anger, love…

All my life I had tried my best to control them. For a while, I didn't even think I had them. But then, of course, I cared about Watson or Mrs. Hudson or Lestrade and many others, but still, I had almost never felt so many extreme emotions in such a short amount of time, which is why it made feeling them all the more powerful.  
>I shoot his locks off, not even bothering to pick them. I hesitate before I mount him.<p>

Did he want to carry me, after he got beaten in that manner because of me? Of course he didn't, but choice did I have? He then makes a sound which was undoubtedly meant to say _"Get on me already!" _and I do just that.  
>He sets us down on the same island from which he had taken off. I silently get off him and remove my disguise in order to feel less tense. I felt exhausted. Toothless made a croon.<p>

I couldn't look at him. I knew that he was now more than certainly disgusted with me. How else could _anyone _be with someone who is the reason you were beaten and nearly killed?

"Please, just… don't look at me." I say with an attempt at my usual stoic voice, but instead it came out as croaked and broken. I had made a promise to Haddock that nothing would happen to Toothless as long as he was with me, a promise which was now broken. Yes, Toothless hadn't suffered any scars, and his hardy skin meant that any cuts and bruises would fade soon. But mental scars don't fade…  
>He croons again. I couldn't even realize what he was telling me. Had I been in peak mental condition, I'd have been able to realize everything that was in his heart from that croon, but I didn't know what he meant by that.<p>

But then I feel it: a silky, wet, membrane going across my right cheek. He had just licked me. I was confused. Yes, I, Sherlock Holmes was confused.  
>Why did he lick me? Didn't he hate me? After all I all I had put him through, he still liked me? I then dare to look at him.<br>His green eyes widened kindly, his iconic toothless grin showing itself. His gaze wasn't hating, it was friendly, kind, _forgiving._

"Why?" I eventually blurt out. Why? Why did he forgive me, just like that? He then noses one of my small satchels. It was the satchel in which I had put in all the letters I had found in the captain's safe. With his amazing eyesight, Toothless could see through the crack of my satchel and see that there were documents there. He knew that what I had there would help us take down Drago, Dagur and whoever else was in on this (at this point I had deduced that there was at least one Londoner who was in the main circle). He knew that it was worth many wounds what I had recovered. He also knew, from how I had beaten the captain that I was sorry and that I would _never _willingly hurt him. He still liked me as much as Astrid or any of his rider's friends, even after everything.

"Oh, you clever, clever dragon." I say smiling. Grinning in fact. The grin turns into a bursting laughter of joy. He joins in, laughing in his own language. Then, he takes me by surprise and pounces me. It didn't take a genius to deduce what he was going to do after this.

"No. Don't." I say firmly. As a response he pins me with his paw and then licks me from top to bottom even more feverishly than before, my struggles to break free only getting me even wetter.

"Argh! You bloody..." I try to say. He then steps away, looking at me with a smug grin that could have eclipsed the sun.

As soon as I get up, he nuzzles me. I respond by rubbing his chin.  
>In the short time I was with him, I had come to care about Toothless just as much as I cared about Watson. He was a friend. I once told Watson that I didn't have "friends". That was a lie, plain and simple, but, back then, I truly did believe it.<br>I wasn't a brain without a heart, although I'd never admit it out loud.

I lost track of time of how much I had played with Toothless, looking back, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. But it was ten minutes in which, for once, I let my heart govern, not my brain.

I then hear something unexpected from this supposedly empty island. Laughter. Hysterical laughter from an all too familiar voice… I turn around, fully expecting the impossible.  
>Sure enough, a relatively tall, middle-aged, burly and stocky man wearing a thick auburn moustache in an elegant grey suit, traveling coat and bowler hat, with a thick black swordstick by his side was watching us from the shrubbery, wiping away tears of laughter.<p>

"WATSON!?" I yell, my jaw completely dropped. How in the blazes did he get here!?

"-Well, Holmes, I'm discovering new sides to your personality! Really, I didn't know you cared!

-Not a word, Watson!" I warned.

"-Not a word. And don't you dare tell _anyone _about this!

-Sorry, Holmes. It's a bit too late for that." He said grinning while shrugging his heavy shoulders.  
>What did he mean by-… Oh, no. So <em>that's how <em>he got here… A huge beige-orange dragon of almost forty feet came from hiding, alongside with a very tall and lean middle-aged woman. Valka. They too were smiling.  
>This was very, very bad.<p>

"Alright! You got me! Just… don't tell anyone about this." I say darkly. 

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Author's note:<strong>__** I was grinning like a madman while writing that final part XD  
>Aw, man, Watson is never going to let Holmes hear the end of this, will he?<strong>_

_**Also, Holmes does sometimes lose his cool during the canon and some of the series: In the classic SH story "The Three Gables", Holmes beats the living crap out of Evans the Killer after he shot Watson. And during The Three Gables, Watson says that Holmes had shown true emotion while he was injured. Watson says that seeing Holmes' loyalty was "Worth many wounds" (hence, this chapter's name)**_

_**And during BBC Sherlock S2E1, Mrs. Hudson is attacked by CIA agents, and Sherlock beats up the one who punched her by throwing him out the window multiple times. (which is hilarious! XD)**_

_**Soooo, we can deduce that while Holmes is really hard to anger, when you DO anger him... well... run away.  
><strong>_


	24. Chapter 23- Professor James Moriarty

_**Hello everyone!**_

**_Sorry for not updating in awhile, but I've been on vacation (I'm all tanned and sunburned now XD)_**

**_Actually I still am on vacation, I'm uploading this from a restuarant with a Wi-Fi._**

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><p><span><em><strong>Valka<strong>_:

I seriously could not believe it.

I had not seen much of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but the little I had seen, together with what Hiccup and Dr. Watson told me about him, he was about as phlegmatic, calm and no-nonsense as anyone could ever get. Someone who is so devoted to their work, so uncaring of his fellow man, so unsociable, so brilliant, so bohemian, so eccentric, that he could almost be classified as a sociopath.

_"A brain without a heart" _as Dr. Watson had once so pompously described him in his writings.  
>However, it is obvious that the doctor had written that when he still didn't know Holmes very well, because that was simply not true. He wanted to pass as that, and he even wanted to believe it himself so that he could work better. After all, he had claimed multiple times that his work is what's most important to him, a work which is a noble one: using his brilliant mind to right wrongs, solve crimes, stop villains and to fight for truth and justice.<p>

But there he was, playing with Toothless in a way in which I had seen only Hiccup, or Astrid sometimes, play. For a second, I thought that I was looking at Hiccup, his trademark tall lean frame and black and red flight suit being present. But it only took me one second to realize that it wasn't Hiccup: for starters, his hair was short and black, not long and auburn, he was slightly bulkier than Hiccup and he was a good few inches taller, not to mention the obvious age difference.

"I'm glad to see you're taking your duty of taking care of Toothless so seriously, Mr. Holmes." I say smiling.

I expected him to either join us in our laughter, or for him to continue with threatening us not to tell anyone of how much he really proved he liked Toothless. What I didn't expect him to do was to sigh sadly while looking at the ground. There was sadness, regret and self-hate in those normally piercing grey-green eyes.  
>What did I tell him? I only told him that he took care of Toothless! The only reason he would ever have such a reaction to such an innocent question is if…<p>

Oh no.

I then see that Toothless was injured. There was a bruise on his forehead where he had been clubbed into unconsciousness and there were thin cuts all over his body. I couldn't see them at first due to Toothless' jet-black skin hid them and because his hardy skin deflected much of the damage.

"What happened, Holmes?" asked Watson. Since he was a doctor, it didn't take him much to notice himself that Toothless was hurt. Holmes was just sitting on a rock, turning his head away from us so as not to have to see our faces. This was such a contrast from the confident, phlegmatic, no-nonsense, strong gentleman that he almost seemed like a different person.  
>Now that I looked at him more closely, he was looking pretty battered himself: his left cheekbone was bruised, his right shoulder was in a strange position and the skin on his knuckles was bruised and torn.<p>

"Holmes! Your shoulder is slightly dislocated! Here, let me help." With that said, Watson put one hand on his friend's shoulder and suddenly jerked Holmes' hand with the other.  
>The sickening bone-crunching sound meant that it was a very painful affair, but the detective didn't even as much as grimace, instead just looking downwards at his own hands, as if trying to come up with an adequate apology.<br>Cloudjumper sniffed the air around Toothless and he then grunted in horror and recoiled. Toothless made a casual coo as if to say that nothing was out of the ordinary, but his (not to mention Holmes') wounds suggested the contrary. Watson took his medical bag and went to Holmes' side, but Holmes stopped him.

"Watson, Valka, don't treat me, please take care of Toothless. Trust me, he is far more deserving of your attention than I." he said, still not making eye contact.  
>We looked to his wounds with skepticism, but we both went to Toothless.<p>

Upon actually getting near Toothless, we noticed something disturbing: there were abrasions on his wrists, suggesting that he had been put in shackles. I felt my heart turn into a cold liquid that ran to my stomach. Toothless had been bound up. But why? And by whom?  
>Suddenly I heard Watson gasp ever so slightly. He was inspecting the numerous wounds around Toothless' hide. His skin was so hardy that many of the wounds were virtually invisible, but upon inspecting them more closely, I couldn't help but wonder just how I hadn't made that morbid deduction earlier… Watson had led numerous prisoner of war rescue missions during his service in India and Afghanistan, and those prisoners were very often tortured, so he was more than familiar with wounds caused by that, even on non-humans…<p>

"Good Lord, Valka… He... he's been whipped!" whispered Watson in disbelief. I nearly faint and I feel tears pricking my eyes as I realize just how much Toothless had suffered. Before I can stop it, a terrible image appears in my head of Toothless bound up on a ship, with Berserkers laughing and whipping him from all sides, his pride broken, his beautiful hide bleeding, he screams, unable to contain the pain any longer…  
>I let a gasp (more like a sob) escape my throat as I imagine him going through something like that. I cared about Toothless deeply, not just because he was The Alpha and Hiccup's dragon, or because he was the last Night Fury, but because he was one of the most, if not the most, kind, intelligent and human dragons out there.<p>

We had developed a solid friendship over the months I had known him, partly from when me and Hiccup went flying, but also that I'd soothe him whenever he beat himself up over Stoick's death, since I knew a lot more about dragon psychology than anyone else, I could soothe him better, in fact I was the one who convinced him to eat after he refused to do so for two days straight when he once again remembered all the sorrow he was "responsible" for.  
>I thanked all the gods I knew that he was alright and that I didn't have to watch him getting beaten up…<br>Toothless sensed my worry, and nuzzled me kindly and then started jumping around and hopping over trees as if to show me that he still was in top condition. But me and Watson had none of it, and we both rushed to him with our medical supplies in hand.

We both decided to first treat him and then question Holmes: if there was the slightest risk that Toothless' wounds wound get infected, we weren't willing to take it. While the cuts were not deep or large by any means, they were numerous and painful-looking.  
>Despite Toothless' protests, we were able to patch him up fairly quickly and both me and Watson sighed in relief that he still seemed to be in top condition.<p>

"Now, Holmes, I think you owe us to tell what the devil happened." Said Watson dryly as he gathered back his medical supplies. Holmes took a deep breath and he began to speak.

"I went with Toothless because I wished to find out more about Drago's plans, find out who is in his inner circle, find out why he has also established branches in London or other places in Europe. My best bet was a scout ship. So I…" his voice trailed off and he hunched within himself even deeper.

Whenever I had seen Holmes he was standing as straight as he could, showing his remarkable height and attitude. Now he looked like a pious man going to a priest in order to confess his sins.

"I… got captured on purpose." He finished.

"What!?" me and Watson exclaimed in unison. I was prepared to start yelling at him for such a foolish act, unworthy of a man of his intellect, but Watson beat me to it:

"-Holmes!? Are you out of your bloody mind!? Do you have even the slightest idea of the danger you put yourself in, not to mention Toothless!?

-Everything was planned ahead. Every variable was allowed for." Responded Holmes calmly and dryly.

"Watson, you have been with me long enough to know that in certain investigations I cannot make progress without taking some kind of risk. The most rewarding tasks come with the most risk. Didn't they teach you that in the Army?" said Holmes as Watson was about to yell at him again.

After Holmes said that, Watson looked ready to strike his friend and I was afraid that he would do just that.

"It was worth it, my dear fellow. Look." Said Holmes before Watson could say anything else. With that said, he opened one of the satchels on the flight gear and took out some papers, undoubtedly plans, letters and maps.

"I am sorry about Toothless. I had thought that they would just bind him up. I hadn't expected the Berserkers to be this bloodthirsty. Haddock had told me that every time that he and Toothless were captured, they just tied him and that was it. But now…" Holmes gnawed on his lower lip and looked away.

While I was angry with Holmes, he was right. There was no way that we could defeat Drago and whoever else was in on this without subterfuge of this manner. But although Toothless was putting on a brave face and acted like it nothing had happened, I knew how terrifying and humiliating it must have been for him to go through something like that, I didn't even want to think about it…

"I'm sorry. It should have been me." Said Holmes.

When he said that, I turned to him so quickly, that my neck hurt (although it could have also been from getting strangled earlier).

"Excuse me?" I say confused.

"You heard me, Valka. It should have been me. I was reckless, and I failed to foresee the most likely consequence of my actions. For the first time in years, my deductions have failed me. I was the one who made the mistakes, I should have been the one to pay for them." He said seriously.  
>Well, he <em>always <em>spoke seriously, but I just knew that he meant it this time.

I felt most of my anger with him vanish, although I knew that Hiccup wouldn't be so forgiving. I was amazed at his show of empathy, but Watson was completely dumbstruck. He looked at Holmes without blinking as if he had grown a third arm.

"So, what happened, Watson?" asked Holmes.

"What are you talking about?" asked Watson, the question knocking him out of his stance. Holmes scoffed.

"-Watson, you give me way too little credit. Even Inspector Lestrade would be able to tell that the three of you have been fighting for your life. Outside of Cloudjumper's obvious bandages, I can see that some savage has seen fit to attempt to strangle Valka. But why use such a revolting method?  
>Hate, quite simply. I believe that whoever tried to kill you had something personal against you, most likely connected to your dragon-protecting past. I believe that I am right when I say that you saved her, didn't you, Watson?<p>

-Yes, Holmes, how-

-Because if Cloudjumper would have fought her opponent, he'd have torn him to shreds, yet there are no blood-marks on his claws or fangs, not even faint, save for some fish scales from his breakfast. And judging by the deepness of the bruise, you were completely out of air, already unconscious, in no position to fight back. As for your opponents, they were some wannabe dragon trappers or hunters, barely out of their teens. And despite the fact that they had used crossbows, which are just as accurate as rifles, the only one hit by them was Cloudjumper, and that's just because he's so big.  
>No offense, old boy." Said Holmes to Cloudjumper as Cloudjumper growled at his comment.<p>

Then I realized something, and that realization hit me like a Bewilderbeast's tusk: what would I tell Hiccup?  
>I couldn't let him see that I was strangled. He had enough things to worry about without me being one of them. Also, it broke my heart when I saw him sad or worried. And me almost dying would not let him focus on chiefing and not to mention defeating Drago. Besides, I just didn't <em>deserve <em>his attention.  
>Why should he be attending to me, when I have behaved as if he didn't exist for twenty years of his life? Why should he tend my wounds when I didn't even know that he lost his leg? When he was in hardship, I didn't help him up, when he was virtuous, I didn't cheer for him. So why should he?<p>

"-Dr. Watson?

-Yes?" he asked, turning to me.

"How… how bad is it?" I ask pointing to my neck.

"-Nowhere near as bad as your son was when he was hanged. When I examined him I came to the conclusion that had Astrid cut the rope one second later than she did, she'd have picked up a corpse. It's very rare for people to recover so quickly from such severe strangulation, he has a surprisingly solid constitution. But his neck-mark will stay there for quite a while, I'm afraid, it might even be a scar.  
>For you… well how do you feel?<p>

-It's sometimes difficult to breathe and it hurts to swallow.

-That's normal. Eat nothing but soft foods in the next few days and drink warm tea, avoid any food or drink that's too hot or too cold. And should you ever find yourself unable to breathe, use this, or preferably have someone administer it." As he said this, he gave me his oxygen inhaler.

I thanked him and pocketed the small inhaler, hoping that I wouldn't have to use it. It would break Hiccup's tender heart, and I just didn't deserve having _anyone_ worry about me, especially my son who has suffered for the first twenty years of his life because of me…

"-But, Doctor, the bruise?

-What about it?

-When will it fade?" I asked. He took a closer look at my wound and asked me to move my head. It was then that I discovered that it also hurt to stretch my neck.

"A week, maybe more. Even after that, continue with the treatment until your throat stops feeling tight."

A week.

A week in which Hiccup would desperately tend to me, missing his own sleep so that he could make sure that I didn't suffocate in my sleep. A week in which he would skip important chiefing duties so that he made sure that I recovered adequately.  
>A week in which he would give me everything that I never gave him for twenty years: love, care and compassion.<p>

No, he had to focus on leading the village and fighting Drago and whoever else was in on this, not worry over me. I had to hide this from him. I needed to cover my neck with something. I search Cloudjumper's saddle bags, but I had left my scarf at home; I always took well to the cold, even more so than most Vikings, I didn't need much protection.

"-Doctor, could you lend me your scarf?

-Sure, why?" he asked as he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. I bit my lip as I thought about what exact words I should say.

"-You know that my son is busy and stressed out, right?

-Of course, that's normal, but I don't see-

-He can't worry over me. He has enough things on his mind anyway. He can't see this" I say pointing to my neck.

Watson raised an eyebrow and Cloudjumper grunted disapprovingly.

"Valka… you need someone to monitor your recovery. That someone has to be your son. And even so, you think he won't find out?" said Watson very matter-of-factly.

I bit my lip, once again thinking of my exact words.

"Doctor, please. How can he focus on taking down the most dangerous criminal and warlord that ever existed when he knows that his mother nearly died? As a doctor, I'm sure that you know how much news like that affects the human psyche." I say. Watson stroked his thick auburn moustache for a few seconds as he pondered on this.

"-Very well. You are right. It would affect him and probably impend his ability to think properly. I've experienced that myself as both a soldier and a doctor. But don't expect him not to notice; he is a brilliant young man.

-I know." I respond, unable to hide my faint smile. I expected Holmes to say something, but he didn't. When I turned my head to look for him, he was by Toothless' side, making sure that his wounds had been properly treated. He said something to Toothless which I couldn't quite make out, but it was clear that he was apologizing, but after he had said it, Toothless licked him and made a croon which I knew meant _"Don't worry, I forgive you."_

I smiled to myself, and I'm sure that Watson and Cloudjumper were no different. But then I remember that I had forgotten to do something very important…

"-Doctor?

-Yes?

-I just wanted to thank you for… everything. You saved my and Cloudjumper's life.

-Think nothing of it." He said casually as he waved his arm as if to say that it was nothing. I would have been surprised of his response if I hadn't already grown accustomed to his modest way of thinking.

"-That's it? Doctor, if it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead!

-That's debatable." He answered simply. I was about to try to say something else, but Holmes called out to us and told us that it was time to get to Berk.

_**Haddock: **_"Sir! Chief!" Came one of the Berkian guards to me as I was preparing lunch in my house. Astrid wasn't the best cook in the world, in fact I wouldn't even call anything she cooks as edible, and mom was out, so that left me to cook on my own.

"Yes, what is it, Fritz?" I ask turning around. I had ordered him to guard Samuel Crooke (giving him strict orders not to harm him, since he was valuable) and didn't expect to hear from him for at least a few other hours. When I looked at him, his face was as red as a lobster and twitching angrily, but I could tell that it wasn't me whom he was angry at.

"-Sir, can I please brain that son of a half troll?

-I told you that he is not to be harmed. What happened, did he try to escape?

-No, but he won't stop insulting! He called me a brainless savage, called all the Vikings "_Caveman Retards_", said that our culture is archaic and pagan, and he does all this hoping that I will come in there and beat him senseless. He's smart, the little yak, he knows that if he dies or gets beaten too badly he won't be able to talk.

-Just wait until Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson return. They'll interrogate him, and after that… I don't know, I'll let Holmes decide. Now, tell Ragnar to switch posts with you, and you go to the Great Hall for a break; you've earned it." With that, I turned back around and resumed cutting the vegetables.  
>Although I didn't show it while I was speaking with the guard, I was just as tired of Samuel as the guards.<p>

It appears that contrary to popular fiction, professional assassins are not phlegmatic, patient or silent. Samuel was as obnoxious as a three year old who was denied dessert.  
>How did that fool become Professor Moriarty's top assassin or how Drago decided that it was a good idea to hire that idiot, I'll never know. I suppose he's better with his daggers than he is with his words, although the brief scuffle he had with me and Holmes proved the contrary; he was beaten in less than ten seconds.<br>After the morning chief duties were done, I decided to go and watch Astrid handle the Academy, but I then discovered that she had taken the youths on a tour along several landmarks on my map. So, I had nothing left to do but stay in an empty house.  
>Sitting alone in a fur armchair by the fire made me think even more about Toothless and Holmes…<p>

I had seldom been more worried for Toothless. The only times I was so worried was when he blamed himself over my father's death.

With that, I inevitably recall what happened each time he remembered what he did, which never was less often than twice a week: but it was a few weeks before I married Astrid that it was the worst:

_Every time I was awoken by his piercing screech of waking up from a nightmare, I rushed to him, but he would whine and pull away. He looked like a lost child abandoned in front of an orphanage.  
>He was whining and whimpering which was very much unlike the proud Night Fury, Alpha and best friend that I was used to.<br>He was so hunched into himself that he looked as though_ _if he would hunch himself enough he would disappear from this world completely, which I imagine, was exactly what he wanted.  
>The moment he sees me, he screeches again, warning me to stay away, backing himself against the wall, covering his face with his wing so that I couldn't look at him.<em>

_I remember that the previous morning I had myself had a terrifying nightmare, even worse than before, it was such a dreadful dream that all I will say is that it made Toothless seem like a bloody monster, tearing apart my loved ones limb from limb, ending with me._  
><em>That day, I couldn't look at him the same. I would look at him, and all I could see was his deadly snarl with which he tore me apart. I would look in his eyes and see not the eyes of the dragon who has been the closest thing I ever had to a brother, the eyes of my best friend, I could only see the eyes of a murderer.<em>

_No matter how much I reasoned with myself that it wasn't his fault, I couldn't stay with him that day. It tore my heart to shreds hearing his calling coos after me, but I knew that with my current psychological state, I would probably lose my temper with him over some trifle and call him "murderer" or something equally foul and false, so I lied to him that I was too busy with chiefing._  
><em>After a whole day of avoiding him, he had the nightmare. It must have been more dreadful than any night terror he had, for I had never seen him so terrified.<em>  
><em>That day he must have smelled my fear and resentment of him, and…<em>

_I don't know, nor will I ever want to know exactly what his dreams were. But I can only imagine them being ten times worse than mine._

_As I realized that it was my fault, I broke down beside him, telling him inbetween sobs how sorry I was. With that, he forgot how much he hated himself, and covered me with his wing and we both practically cried ourselves to sleep…_

I shake my head feverishly to stop the memory, disgusted with myself. Why would I want to remember something like that? Truly, I was a despicable human being. After frying the fish, I covered it and waited once again. Not wanting to once again be consumed by terrible memories, I once again try to read "Crime and Punishment". But all I could see on those pages were not words, but my own thoughts.

I was worried about Toothless and Holmes sick. New, terrible and increasingly unlikely and ridiculous scenarios formed in my head. But there was one that stood out: what if Toothless would once again remember what he did? What would Holmes do?  
>Holmes had many talents: he was the smartest man I knew, he was ten times stronger than he looked, he was an expert boxer and martial artist, a decent violinist and even composer, a master chemist, a more than keen observer, and the list could go on.<br>All those talents… but comforting and common human soothing were not among them.

Being who he is, Holmes will most likely try and use logical arguments that it wasn't Toothless' fault. I hoped he wouldn't remember it again, for I knew I didn't want to see him in that state again…  
>All this… because of me.<p>

No, not because of me, but because of Drago.

That man… that beast…

I had made the mistake of offering him the olive branch. He knocked it out of my hand. If I had just killed him in the first place, everything would have been fine! But, no, I just _had_ to be a morally-righteous imbecile. I couldn't believe how stupid I was. Did I really think that a man who kills an entire gathering of chiefs simply because they refused to listen to them and enslaves dragons could be reasoned with!?  
>But this time, I'm not reasoning with him.<p>

When he sees me, it will be the last thing he ever sees.  
>He no longer has his dragon army, most of his armada scattered, he has <em>nothing<em>.

And now he gathered strength, most likely united with the Berserkers and settled contacts in London, and who knows where else?  
>I slam my fist on the table for no particular reason.<br>Just you wait Drago… I beat you once, I'll beat you again… and this time for good. And I won't do any more stupid mistakes.

I wasn't a violent man, not by a long shot, I even tried to reason with Maul, and killing him had left a mark on me which never left...  
>But Drago… I would kill him with no regrets. He is human garbage, though I'm not entirely sure about the "human" part...<p>

"Hiccup?" Astrid's voice interrupted my dark thoughts. Considering what direction my mind was taking, it was a blessing she had come.

"You were gritting your teeth." She said, her ocean blue eyes shining with tears of concern.

"Oh, Astrid…" I murmur, hugging her tightly and kissing her unsuspecting lips.

"I… thanks for coming. I was…" my voice trailed off, not sure of what else to say. There was nothing to say, she already knew what I was going through. Without her, mom and Toothless, I'm sure I'd have lost my mind completely in the last few months.  
>How I lasted months in London without them, I'll never know. She wiped my eyes with the heel of her hand, and I realized that I had cried whilst swimming in my thoughts.<p>

"You'll get over this Hiccup." She said kissing me once again and smiling.

"-You _always_ do. What are you afraid of? We beat Drago once, and now you're stronger than even, mentally and physically, you know who can be reasoned with and who only responds to the sword, you've already proven to be just as great a chief as your father.  
>Drago didn't stand a chance against you before, now we have Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson on our side! All the odds are stacked against him.<br>You will be remembered as the greatest Chief of Berk that's ever lived. Think about what you have now, and stop thinking of what you've lost.

- I know what I have, Astrid. I have the greatest woman in the world as my wife, first and foremost." I say, locking lips with her once again and smiling against her lips. It sounded cheesy, I knew, but I was too weary to say anything more romantic at that point.  
>I was just glad that she was with me, and nothing else mattered.<p>

"-How was teaching at The Academy?

-Not bad. The kids are already very friendly with their dragons, and I'm good at teaching because I learned from the best." She said smiling.

With her, things didn't seem so bad now. It now seemed unbelievable that I was so upset mere moments ago, because now I was beaming with Astrid by my side. I leaned into her for a much more passionate kiss...

Suddenly, we heard the doors of our own personal stables opening.  
>I rush over there, my heart in my throat, praying that it was Toothless, and that he was alright. I open the large doors which linked my house to our personal stables, and I see that not only did Holmes and Toothless return, but so did Mom and Dr. Watson.<br>For some reason, Mom was wearing a rather fancy dark blue scarf, but I paid it no heed: I just ran over to Toothless.

"Hey, bud." I say as I hug him and he licks my face.  
>He was back… he was safe… why did I worry that much in the first place?<br>Suddenly, as I hug him, I feel bandages. I gasp and I retract. He was bandaged almost everywhere… If it hadn't been for Toothless' reassuring glance, I'd have passed out.

I look at Holmes, and as I gazed at him, for the first time since I met him, he avoided my gaze. Although he turned from me, I could see guilt and shame in his normally piercing look.  
>What had he done to Toothless!? I peel away one of the bandages and I gasp. He had been whipped… His wrists were also bruised, which suggested that he had been bound up.<p>

"What happened!?" I yell to Holmes.

As a response, he took out some papers from one of the flight gear satchels and slaps them on the table. He fixes his eyes into his normal unreadable look.

"I found those documents on board of a Berserker ship. We got lucky." He said

. Lucky!? My blood was boiling. I figure out what he did… he got captured on purpose to find clues, and those savages bound Toothless and…  
>Without thinking, I grab Holmes by the collar and slam him into the wall. Looking back on it, it was a stupid move, Holmes was far stronger and more skilled in combat than I, but thankfully he made no move to defend himself.<br>Watson, Mom and the rest were all telling me to simmer down, but I paid them no heed.

"What the Hel were you thinking!? Didn't you realize what they would do to Toothless when they captured him!? What if they had killed him!? What if they had killed _you, _you bloody moron!?" He opens his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by me sending my best left uppercut into his gut.  
>Despite the fact that he was protected by my flight gear, it was hard enough for him to grunt, cough and bend over. As he bent over, I considered for a minute to kick him in the face with my prosthesis, but Toothless jumped between us, quietly roaring at me with a scolding look which said <em>"What is wrong with you!?"<em>

"Hiccup! What are you doing!?" I heard Astrid yell. It was then that I realized how much I had allowed myself to degrade. The fire of anger had been put out, and in its place, cold ashes of guilt set in the pit of my stomach. What had I just done?

"I had thought you better than this, Haddock!" Spat Watson at me with venom glaring at me as he helped Holmes up.

"No, Watson, let him be. I deserve it." Said Holmes sadly. Despite my shame with the act of punching him, I still was very angry with him. He had promised that he wouldn't let any harm reach Toothless. I didn't even want to think about Toothless getting bound up and humiliated in that manner…

"I wish they had whipped me, not him." Said Holmes. I turned at him so quickly that I nearly hurt my neck.

"What!?" I ask dumbstruck. This was the first time I truly heard Holmes care about anyone on this level.

"You heard me." He responded dryly. I just stared at him, dumbstruck. Did he really care so much about Toothless?

"Are you on cocaine?" I ask a few moments later.

It was a possibility, since he admitted that he used it when there were no cases.

He scoffed. "Don't be absurd, Haddock. I only use that substance when my mind is not preoccupied. I can assure you that I have had plenty to think about, in fact, I didn't even take my bottle and syringe to Berk, because I knew that I would always have something to think about."

I looked at him, my mouth gaping for a few more seconds. Had he really said that? Did he really wish that he had suffered in Toothless' place?

"You're serious." I say. It was a statement, not a question.

"Have you ever known me as anything but?" he responded stoically. I glance at the documents.  
>There were both some cream-coloured envelopes, undoubtedly from England, as well as rough brown papers, characteristic of The Archipelago. So, this confirmed that Drago also had "friends" in England. And those letters would reveal who his partner is… and who knows what else… This would give us an amazing upper hand over Drago.<p>

"Umm… sorry about the punch, Holmes." I say sheepishly, scratching the back of my neck.

"No problem. It was completely called for. By the way, your boxing skills are admirable. You hit me exactly in a pressure point on the liver. If I weren't so endurant, I'd have passed from sheer pain" He said smiling. But my shocked expression didn't mirror his…

"Oh my- I'm sorry!" I repeat.

I then look to regard Mom and Cloudjumper. To my horror, Cloudjumper was also bandaged. But this time, those wounds were caused by arrows. Thankfully, they weren't too deep, Cloudjumper's hardy skin deflecting most of the damage. I then observe that Watson's stick had a spot of blood on the knob where he had struck someone.

"We had a run-in with some wannabe dragon-trappers. Nothing to worry about, just some youngsters, barely out of their teens, wanting to get rich via dragon trapping. We're alright, Hiccup" said Mom. I then notice something about her voice…

"Mom, have you got a sore throat? You're a little raspy." I say.

At this perfectly innocent question she was visibly shaken. She tried to say something, but Watson beat her to it:

"She started showing symptoms of the common cold while we were flying. Obviously, going in the air at high speeds in cold weather like this tends to make you sick, eventually. That's why I also gave her my scarf." Said Watson very matter of factly.

Watson could lie beautifully when he wanted to, so I saw nothing on his face or tone of voice which gave him away. But as the doctor said this, Mom seemed very relieved… There was something wrong about this, I couldn't put my finger on it, but I was going to find out.

"-Well, Mom, now that you're inside, you can take the scarf off.

-Out of the question." Responded Watson firmly. But I wasn't looking at him, but at Mother, who paled visibly as I asked her to do that. I looked at her more closely trying to use Holmes' own methods: Watson had said that she had a cold, yet she only had raspy breathing, no dripping nose, no coughs, no other symptoms whatsoever.  
>Her scarf was covering her entire neck, yet it was very loose, as if it would bother her if it were tight. She was very nervous, hands shaking, looking at me as if she were scared of me. Also, she was unconsciously putting her hand to her neck, as if to cover it further… Toothless and Cloudjumper were both looking at her and growling softly as if they wanted to say <em>"Go on, say it! Don't hide it anymore!"<em>

"Can we have lunch now?" asked Mom, trying to change the subject.

"Alright. But we'll talk later." I said gravely.

I asked her to help me set the table. As she went to the kitchen, I nodded to Toothless and pointed to Mom who had her back turned. He knew what he had to do.  
>Just as she turned to face me, Toothless snuck up behind her and snatched her scarf in an instant with his teeth. She instantly screamed in panic and tried to cover her neck with her hands.<p>

I covered my mouth in order not to scream. Along her neck was a straight, dark purple bruise. It looked nearly as bad as my own bruise when I was hanged. Despite the fact that she covered her neck almost instantly, I could see that she had been strangled with a stick of sorts. I now also noticed light bruises on her hands and fingertips, suggesting that she had pushed back fiercely against her opponent.  
>As I analysed and took in all this, my vision went hazy and my feet (well… foot and prosthesis) gave way beneath me. If I hadn't leaned against the table, I'd have passed out, and even so, I slammed my forehead against the table so hard that my head started ringing. I felt Mom's slender hands helping me up.<p>

"Hiccup! Are you alright?" she asked desperately, brushing my hair from my eyes, hugging me tightly as soon as she saw that I was conscious. I hugged her back with no hesitation, but pulled back to look at the mark which some savage had made… If I ever caught that man, I would make him wish he were never born…

"Who did that?" I asked, trying my best to keep the tears out of my eyes and the sorrow and anger out of my voice. She looked at the ground and a little pearl of a tear escaped her right eye.

"I already told you that we had a run in with some young wannabe 'trappers'. You've also had run-ins with youngsters like these, so you know them. But… remember that frozen fort you saw when you met Eret the first time?" she asked. I nodded.

She swallowed hard, took in a deep breath and despite her best efforts, a sob escaped her throat and more tears streaked down her face. It tore my heart to shreds seeing her in this state, so I hugged her tenderly, careful to avoid her neck, feeling tears sting my own eyes.

"There… there were still… t-trappers in that fort when I froze it… They… died a horrible death because of me… Crushed to death by spikes of ice… or suffocated…" Her sobbing intensified and I hugged her tighter, kissed her forehead, feeling her tears soak my shirt.  
>Honestly, I wasn't <em>that <em>surprised that there were still trappers in that fort. But I knew how guilt clawed at your heart. I was no stranger to the feeling of guilt: I blamed myself for my father's death and I killed Maul in a backalley brawl by driving Inferno into his chest.

His deathly scream still haunts my dreams…

But she was feeling guilt for maybe dozens of trappers. I could only imagine what torture it was to feel guilt for dozens of people. But I had to let her know that she did the right thing. Usually, it was her that comforted me while I was sobbing. Every time I woke up from a nightmare, she was by my side, picking me back up. Now I had to return the favour.

"Mom, look at me." I say, pulling her gently by the collarbone so I stared into her tear filled light opal green eyes which mirrored my own.

"You couldn't have possibly known there were still people there. And even so, you had to destroy that fort. Who knows how many dragons and even men would have been killed, mangled, butchered in the most disgusting ways, had you not destroyed that Trapper fort? Who knows, maybe you even saved Berk that way." I say, staring at her kindly. I felt weight getting off my chest as I saw that she smiled, even if faintly, at my words.

"-But, still, that doesn't answer my question, Mom: who tried to strangle you?

-The younger brother of one of the dead trappers sought revenge. He tackled me and then pushed the bullhook into my neck. Now I know how it was like for you to be hanged. It was dreadful, I went unconscious.

-How did you survive?

-Dr. Watson fought him and knocked him out." She answered.

I felt a gigantic surge of gratefulness toward the doctor enter all my being. I knew that Watson was a very brave and selfless man, but this took me by surprise. I'd thank him later, right now there still was something which I wanted to make clear.

"Why did you hide it from me, Mom?" She bit her lip and looked downwards. She tried to speak up a couple of times, but she tripped over her own words.

"I didn't want you to be distracted away from chiefing. And even now, please don't worry about me." She said. For a few moments, there was silence. I just hugged her tightly, yet tenderly, happy that she had told me all this. Her sobbing ceased eventually, but her crying didn't.

"I don't deserve you." She eventually said. I pulled back from the hug, staring at her as if she'd grown a second head. Had she really just said that?

"Mom…" I try.

She shook her head feverishly before I can say anything else.

"No… I've been meaning to tell you this for a long time, but whenever I tried, you brushed me off." I knew better than to interrupt her now, so I just reached out to hug her. She tensed at first, but I held her tighter and she eventually returned the hug.  
>Her sobbing picked up again.<p>

She had tried many times to tell me how much she hated herself and her decision to stay with the dragons, but every time I brushed her off and changed the subject. Now it was time to take the bull by the horns.

"How can you _not _be angry with me, Hiccup? I never watched you grow up, I never taught you how to speak, or walk, I only spent your first few months with you.  
>When you were outcasted and bullied by everyone, I never even gave you a word of encouragement. When you fought the Red Death and lost your leg, I didn't even know. I didn't <em>care<em>.  
>You've endured so many things, and I never was by your side.<p>

All the years I was with the dragons, you know that I never even went to see Berk _once_?  
>Not once! Even if there was a risk, I should have just watched you from a distance or something.<br>Think about it, Hiccup! If in the last six years I'd have went to see Berk, I'd have seen that it was at peace with the dragons!

Heck, _I_ should have made peace! As soon as I learned how to fly Cloudjumper, I should have went to Berk and showed everyone the truth! All the men, women and dragons who died during the raids in the first fifteen years of my absence were my fault!" she said sobbing openly once again.

"That's not true, Mom." I said firmly. And it really wasn't true.

"But of course it is!" she cried out.

"No, it's not. What if you had returned to Berk on dragonback while we were still at war, hmm? They'd have shot you out of the sky with a bola, killed Cloudjumper, and then probably killed you as well as a 'traitor to your own species' before they even removed your mask. You couldn't risk it." I said.  
>She said nothing, her crying ceased and only held on to me as if I were her lifeline.<p>

"What have I ever done to deserve you? What kind of mother am I?" she asked in a barely audible whisper. In fact, I think she only meant to whisper it to herself.

"Everything. Everything you've ever done is what you did. As for what kind of mother you are, the best kind." I say. She looked at me surprised.

"-No, Hiccup, how could you-

-You were the first human to ever make peace with the dragons. You did more for them than all of us combined. You were the only to truly stand up to Drago. Without you, Drago would have finished his army and attacked Berk _way _before he did. Heck, he'd probably have conquered the world by now. Even outside the Archipelago, the armies of the world, with all their advanced technology couldn't have stood up to Drago's dragon army. Especially if you add in the Bewilderbeast."

I stopped and shook my head for a second to cease the image of Drago's Bewilderbeast attacking a place like London.

That was one scary thought…

She looked up to me and smiled.

"Thank you, Hiccup." She said. Such simple three little words that meant so much…  
>After she cleaned herself up and I nursed her wound, we went to set the table.<p>

Thankfully, because I had covered the fish, it retained some heat, so we set the table and I went to see if Holmes and Watson were hungry.  
>When I opened the door and went to the sitting room, they were sitting on two armchairs opposite each other, smoking their pipes and exchanging stories of their adventures that day, much like they did on Baker Street.<br>Although I'm sure they heard some of what I talked with Mom, they didn't show it. Watson had just removed his suit jacket and bowler hat, leaving him in his shirt, waistcoat, suit trousers and tie. Holmes had changed my flight gear with his casual, yet elegant suit.  
>Why they felt the need to dress so neatly in a Viking household, I'll never know.<p>

"Watson?" I say.

"Yes?" he asked turning his head.

"-Thank you, for saving my mother. I don't want to think what would have happened if you hadn't stepped up.

-Think nothing of it." He said dismissively, waving his hand as if to say that it was nothing. I was more than a little surprised. I mean, I knew that Watson was a modest man, but he just said that as if he had done me a favour as small as passing the salt.

"I just did what anyone else would have done." He said.

"-Watson, first of all, not everyone would fight to save someone's life. Second, you saved my mother's life. If there's anything at all that I can do for you, just say it.

-I don't need favours." He answered simply.

Regardless, I knew I wouldn't be forgetting Watson's noble gesture anytime soon.

"Well, if you're hungry, lunch is served." I said.

"Are you hungry, Watson?" asked Holmes, taking his pipe out of his mouth.

"Not particularly." He answered.

"In that case we shall turn our lunch into dinner. We have to go interrogate Samuel Crooke." Said Holmes, putting his coat and deerstalker on.

Although I doubted that Drago had told Samuel much, he would hold onto the little information he had as if for dear life, of that I was sure. But Homes had his ways of making people talk. And it didn't involve beating the information out of them, he just talked them into saying it. How did he do it? I don't know.

Besides, if Samuel still didn't want to talk, a wild ride on a dragon should make him sing like a choir boy I thought chuckling evilly.

_**Third person POV:**_ "WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T HAVE THE MESSAGES!?" yelled Drago Bludvist as he grabbed the young captain by the throat and lifting him off his feet.

The Berserker captain was already bruised, bloody and battered from his fight with the "Chief of Berk", not to mention the bullet which had yet to be removed from his shoulder due to the healers' lack of experience with bullet wounds.  
>The terrified captain tried to say something but it only came out as a choked ramble. Drago weakened his grip, but only just, so that the captain could speak. He would kill this young imbecile after he was done talking, Drago was sure of that.<p>

"The Chief of Berk, he…" the captain didn't get to say another word before Drago snapped his neck, killing him instantly.

He had heard enough. Drago stepped away from him, breathing like a rabid dog looking for prey.

"Drago, are you insane!?" came a voice from behind him. Drago turned on his heels, trying to stare down the man who had said that. Anyone who challenged him made his blood boil. Well, just about _anything _that didn't go his way made his blood boil. The man who had said that was one of his lesser "partners", Dagur the Deranged. The young deranged chief wasn't intimidated by Drago's death stare in the slightest.

"-That captain? Yeah, he was an idiot, but he's the son of one of the Berserk Council Members! Do you know what a scandal it's going to be with him dead!?

-I don't care! If he's incapable of holding someone as pathetic as Hiccup Haddock without getting himself and his crew beaten and losing documents as important as that, he deserves to die!

-Pathetic? Gentlemen, I believe that you are both severely underestimating our opponent." Came a deep, manly and cold British-Irish voice from nearby.

This serpent-like voice was capable of freezing the blood of even the hardiest of men. The owner of the voice was a very tall and strongly built Englishman.  
>He instantly stood out from the Vikings with his extravagant suit worthy of a wealthy Lord, accent and charming manners, not to mention his intelligence which went off the charts.<br>The man was elderly, in his early fifties, but he looked of no more than forty. His balding blonde hair was brushed across his scalp in a very neat fashion. His neat, blonde gentleman beard was also very trimmed and elegant.  
>His small, cold, blue-grey eyes were capable of intimidating even Drago Bludvist, although the madman would never openly admit it.<br>But his most striking feature were the two long scars on his forehead which he usually concealed with a wig and top hat.  
>The jagged scar was from when he fell into the Reichenbach Falls. The fact that the water was moving had saved his life, but he struck his head on a rock which left his brilliant mind in a vegetable state for many years in a mental asylum, and the world thought him to be dead. The man who had done that was none other than Sherlock Holmes, his only mental superior of whom he was aware of.<p>

The straight scar which went all across his upper forehead was from numerous brain surgeries, which fixed his malefic and brilliant mind.  
>The moment Professor James Moriarty started to speak, both Drago and Dagur stopped their arguing and looked to him, respectfully waiting for The Professor to finish his statement.<p>

"-You have both been defeated by that so called "fishbone", he has foiled your plots numerous times, each time proving to be a most remarkable thinker. In fact, he is nearly as brilliant as my ex-rival. I have sent my most veteran assassin after him, and Haddock either killed or imprisoned him. I should remind you that he is the same assassin who killed The Prince of Prussia and Sir Woodville.  
>He was also capable of killing Maul hand-to-hand. I have sparred with Maul myself, and I have to say that even with a weapon such as his firesword, it takes considerable skill and strength to defeat him.<p>

-WE WILL KILL HIM, PROFESSOR! I WILL RIP HIM IN HALF LIKE THE FISHBONE HE IS! HE HAS HUMILIATED MY ALPHA AND FOILED MY PLANS! HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT HE IS "REMARKABLE"?!" roared Drago into Moriarty's face, accidentally getting some spit on it in the process.  
>Moriarty remained as calm as a frozen lake, his features completely unreadable, casually took a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his face.<p>

Moriarty stood his ground, as if daring Drago to make a move. Drago knew better than to attack Moriarty: he had tried that once, early in their partnership, when Moriarty disagreed with one of his plans. Although Drago was a head taller and nearly twice as heavy, Moriarty had him incapacitated and pinned to the ground in a painful arm-lock in a matter of seconds.  
>Moriarty was also an expert martial artist: he was once the boxing champion of Cambridge, won numerous fencing and martial arts competitions across the globe and using an Eastern technique, he could methodically analyse and plan a fight before it actually happened, much like his ex-rival.<br>The only man who had ever defeated him hand-to-hand was Sherlock Holmes.

And although Drago and Dagur liked to pretend that they were in charge, the one who truly held the strings was Moriarty: A Trapper or a Berserker was more likely to listen to The Professor than to their own chiefs.

"Now, gentlemen, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Those documents were coded. We still have time to finish our affairs here in The Archipelago. Of course, someone as smart as Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third will be able to decode them and find out that we're here, eventually. But even considering that he has the tenacity, mind and wits of say… Sherlock Holmes, which I highly doubt, it would take him at least two days to pinpoint our location. We were going to go back to London, anyway. That's what's important, not this wet heap of rock." Said Moriarty emotionlessly. Each word Moriarty said was like an icy dagger which penetrated the heart and veins of those who listened and made them tremble.  
>Moriarty was a hundred times more intimidating than Drago by being calm.<p>

Drago and Dagur nodded, almost nervously, and left, leaving the Napoleon of Crime to his own musings…

* * *

><p><strong><em>How was that for a villian reveal? :D<br>Man, Moriarty is 1000 times scarier than Drago, AND HE NEVER LOSES HIS COOL. I'm basing this Moriarty mostly off the Jarred Harris version from "Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows"_**

**_Also, if you think that I've made Valka a bit too... emotional in this chapter, it's because I kept on reading stories in which Hiccup cries his eyes out and breaks down and his Mom comes and comforts him, and I also wanted to make the opposite._**

**_Also, sorry if the Hiccstrid is a bit "... meh", but I'm not much of a romantic, so..._**

**_Also, sorry for any obvious mistakes or dumb plot points, I've mostly been writing this on the beach with the laptop in my lap, without any proper working conditions._**

**_Man, this chapter is basically just filler, yet it turned out to be the longest chapter yet! Crazy, huh? :)  
><em>**


	25. Chapter 24- The Calm Before The Storm

_**Author's note:**_

_**Alright, not much happens in this chapter, but sometimes filler is necessary. I found this kinda difficult to write since there isn't anything really exciting happening.  
>But the next chapter is going to be EPIC. I guarantee! ;)<br>Anyway, hope you guys still enjoy this!**_

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>Watson:<span>** _After I once again tended to the wounds of Toothless, Cloudjumper and Valka to make sure that there was nothing wrong, me and Holmes went to Berk's dungeon in order to interrogate Samuel Crooke.

"We are here to interrogate Crooke." Said Holmes to the heavyset guard who was leaning against the doors. The large Viking nodded and signaled us to wait for a minute as he entered the dungeon.

"Do you really think you'll get anything out of him, Holmes? He was Moriarty top assassin, he's not scared easily." I said to Holmes.

"My dear fellow, even if he feeds us nothing but lies, which I'm sure he will try, I shall be able to deduce at least a part of what he knows. And while I'm sure that Drago has done his best to give Crooke as little information as possible, there is no way that he hasn't revealed to him at least a fraction of his morbid network." Said Holmes while lighting his pipe.

As we waited for the doors to open I heard sounds from the inside: a steel door opening, someone getting grabbed roughly by the collar and getting dragged away. "Let go of me, you pagan brutes!" I heard Samuel Crooke yell from the inside. I then heard the sound of a hard punch and Samuel grunting and falling down.

I couldn't help but smile as I heard that blackguard getting what he deserved, and Holmes was no different. The doors swung open and the guard was standing in the doorway. "That idiot is in the interrogation room, first door to your left." Said the burly man gruffly. "I warmed him up nice and good for ya." He added with a smirk.

It was easy to see that Crooke had been the first prisoner of the dungeon for months, for his was the only cell occupied, and the few guards seemed relatively new to their posts. The interrogation room was laid out much like at Scotland Yard: a small room, with a simple desk with two chairs on one side for the questioners, and one chair on the other for the suspect. Except, of course, for the complete difference in style between Scotland Yard and a Viking dungeon. Samuel was tied down to the chair, his all-black stealth suit still being on him, except of course, for the mask. His left cheek was now newly bruised near his scar, thanks to the fact that he had tried to escape the guards' grasp.

"What the hell do you want now, Holmes!?" spat Samuel with hatred at my friend, his scar twisting as he grimaced. "Ah, I see you've brought your loyal dog with you." He said slimly as he glanced at me with a grin. As my fight with Eret had proved it, there is nothing in this world that angers me more than being called "dog". I balled my fist and raised it, but Holmes stopped me before I hit that killer. "What Holmes, afraid for your dog to get hurt?" Samuel asked even more mockingly.  
>This time, Holmes couldn't stop me before I struck that imbecile so hard that he fell to the ground, chair and all. Holmes picked him and the chair back up and glanced at me with a scolding look which I knew told me to simmer down. Holmes sat down on one of the chairs opposite the killer and began puffing his pipe.<p>

"Why are you helping these pagans, Holmes? You're helping these… these demon workshippers! Dragons are demons! I thought that you were a Christian man!" yelled Crooke.

"Yes, lucky with you, an assassin, to teach us infidels what a good Christian does. Yes, Crooke, killing people mercilessly for money and helping people of the likes of Moriarty, Milverton, Drago and other crime lords? Yes, you are a shining example of a true Christian!" I said, making sure sarcasm dripped out of my every word.

"Now, then, Crooke. I should like to remind you that it is in your best interests to speak. Even in the unlikely scenario that you manage to escape, should you return to Drago, he will kill you with no hesitation for failing to fulfil your task. And even if you somehow find your way back to England, which I should remind you is virtually impossible without a dragon, Drago will still track you down. He may not be as clever as the late Professor Moriarty, but he is just as merciless. No loose ends." Said Holmes.

"You really think I'm stupid, Holmes? Alright, say I cooperate with you and tell you all that Drago has revealed to me. Then what? You'll hand me over to Scotland Yard, and I'll be hanged or locked up for life for all my previous assassination jobs. You won't let me make a living as a professional assassin even if I tell you everything, I know your type, Holmes." Spat Crooke back.

Holmes blew some smoke into Samuel's eyes while fixing him with his trademark piercing grey-green gaze.

"Very well, then. We shall leave you alone." Saild Holmes simply. I looked at him as if he had turned into a dragon. Did he just say that? Samuel had an equally surprised look which soon turned into glee. Holmes darkened his gaze as he blew some more smoke into the celling, and judging from the disappearance of the killer's smile, Holmes had managed to intimidate him with his cold stare.

"Yes, we shall leave you alone, and let these men you call 'savages' decide your punishment. You attempted to kill their chief, insulted their culture and religion multiple times and you are a known ally of their greatest enemy. How do think they'll treat you?" said Holmes coldly as he got up from the chair and leaned toward Samuel ever so slightly, making even him, a hardened killer, back down from my friend.

"I should like to remind you, Crooke, that we are on an island of dragons, therefore methods of execution can be rather… _creative_." Said Holmes morbidly, smiling sinisterly as he said the last word, making the assassin gulp and shiver, slightly, yet visibly.

"I'm certain that they will give you the choice of which dragon shall kill you. I heard that some of them like to swallow their prey whole. Do you know what it's like to get melted by a dragon's gastric acid? I would say that the noose or life in prison is preferable, but have it your way. We're leaving. We'll let the Chief know that he should pick a hungrier dragon. Those ones swallow their prey whole." Said Holmes as he got up and signalled me to follow him.

I had to turn away so that Samuel couldn't see my grin. Oh, Holmes, you sly, clever devil.

"NO! STOP!" we heard Samuel yell as we pretended to leave. It was all I could do stop myself from bursting in laughter like a madman. Samuel Crooke, one of the most feared assassins in Europe was begging.

"What. Mr. Crooke? Have you reconsidered?" asked Holmes with his usual bored, stoic expression.

"I-I'll tell you. I'll tell you. Just… keep me away from those monsters." Samuel pleaded. We both sat back down.

Oh, Holmes, how you know how to play on people's fears… Samuel licked his dry lips and began his story.

"-As you already know, I am a very notorious assassin for hire. However, I am so good at my job, that the police have never been able to gather enough evidence to arrest me, yet even the man with the slightest knowledge of the criminal underworld, knows that I am the man for the job.  
>Drago Bludvist didn't come to me in person, he sent one of his henchmen to hire me, I only met the man later.<p>

-Can you describe the henchman?" I asked. Samuel shook his head.

"He was masked and wearing all black. But, he was about average height and rather well built. And it was clear that he was masking his voice. You ask me, he was some street toff sent by Drago. He gave me a hundred pounds and told me there was more coming my way if I did exactly what I was told. He brought me over to an abandoned warehouse by the docks. That was where I had met Drago." Samuel shivered slightly as he said that.

"-I don't think I need to tell you, gentlemen, that he is one intimidating man. It's… I don't know, but he's the kind of man which makes you do what he tells you, or else.  
>As an assassin, I fear no man. But Drago…, he scares me.<br>Long story short, he told me of The Archipelago and the dragons. Naturally, I didn't believe him at first, but he showed me evidence.

-What kind of evidence?" asked Holmes blowing more bluish smoke from his elegant, curved cherrywood pipe.

"-A trapped Gronckle, that's what it was called, yes? I thought I was dreaming, but he showed me what it could do. He told me that there were much more dangerous dragons out there, and that they will destroy the world unless I kill the "Dragon Master".

-And you believed that clown?" I asked somewhat mockingly. "

-Of course I didn't believe him, Doctor. But I should like to remind you, I am an assassin, give me enough money and I'll slay whoever you point the finger at. Besides, I couldn't imagine the dragons as being 'good', so I figured whoever is on the other side must be right.

-No, you just figured you'd help a merciless warlord just for money." I responded icily.

"Where was this warehouse?" asked Holmes. "-I don't know, they put me into a carriage and drew the blinds so I couldn't see where I was going.  
>I wasn't alarmed, for I am used to this sort of treatment by employers when I first meet them.<br>But I'll tell you this: the warehouse was abandoned, but there were boxes in there that were new, so he must still be using that warehouse for something. After I agreed, I was once again thrown into a carriage with the blinds drawn so that I could go home to take my equipment. Then, once again, I didn't know where I was going.

-Wait a minute. How long did it take you to get to the warehouse?" asked Holmes.

"-From the "Drunken Mermaid" pub to the warehouse it couldn't have taken more than twenty minutes. And we were not going very fast.

-Right, pray continue. -Drago then took me on board a small ship. From there, we sailed for a while until we reached a very small and very remote island. In fact, I don't think it even figures on any of the maps. It was then that I was taken on board a Viking vessel. The island was remote and far away enough so that it was unnoticeable. I was below deck all the time so that I didn't see where I was going, but I was treated kingly there, so I didn't complain.  
>He took me to a fort of some kind, but he was very careful that I didn't see the insides. He just stayed there for a few hours, and I took the opportunity to walk around that small island.<br>Over there, I was attacked by some sort of wild acid-spitting dragon, but luckily Drago told two of his men to escort me, so we killed the beast easily, but it managed to hurt me." As he said this, Samuel rolled his sleeve back revealing an acid burn.

"He then once again put me below deck of the ship and dropped me off on a very small island near Berk. From there, he gave me a small raft, pointed me to Berk, and the rest you know." Finished Samuel.

Holmes was silent for a moment, puffing the rest of his pipe, his eyes fixed into the very image of concentration, not even blinking.

"Very well, then. Guard! We are finished with him, take him back to his cell. And, pray, be gentle, he has given us vital information." Said Holmes to the guard outside the interrogation room. Outside, Haddock and Eret were already waiting for us.

"How'd it go?" asked Eret smiling.

"As well as it could be expected. Actually, no, it went a lot better. He told us almost everything he knew." I responded.

"Well that's a pity. If he didn't want to talk, I'd have brought in Skullcrusher to scare him up. Y'know, having Skullcrusher hang someone by the ankles with his tail over his gaping mouth is enough to untie any tongue." Said Eret smiling broadly. I returned the smile. I had only seen Skullcrusher from a distance, but I have to say that he was even more imposing than Cloudjumper. I sure felt lucky that Skullcrusher was not near me and Eret during our brawl. Just thinking about the outcome of who was once the Chief's dragon seeing me beating his master made me shiver…

"Well, let's get back to the house and analyse those documents you found, Holmes." Said Haddock.

_**Haddock: **_All three of us went back to the house in order to decide our next move. I knew that just by the documents alone, we wouldn't be able to find out where Drago is: Drago wouldn't leave all his important documents on a vulnerable scout ship, he wasn't stupid. But, with what little Samuel told us (Holmes had interrogated him again later, asking him about every single little detail) we should at least be able to find one part of his operation, find more clues there. One clue leads inevitably to the next. The documents were all coded.  
>They were using some sort of cypher, odd shapes like stars or cylinders. Some of them had a little line above them.<p>

"This cypher will be easy to crack." I say to Holmes and Watson.

"How so? Did you see it before?" asked Watson.

"No, but, _you, _Watson have seen it before." I say. That left him scratching his head.

"Don't you remember, Watson? Does 'The Dancing Men' mean anything to you?" I ask smiling.

"Aha! Yes!" The doctor exclaimed. "It's elementary. The symbols with the little line above them means the end of a word. The ones with a line above and below them means the begging of a new sentence.  
>Now, as we know, in both English and the language used around The Archipelago, the most common letter is 'E'. So, all we have to do is find the most common symbol around here, and work from there." I say. Holmes and Watson were both very surprised.<p>

"I was about to suggest that exact course of action, but you beat me to it. Congratulations, excellent thinking." Said Holmes smiling. I returned the smile, knowing that compliments, particularly in the mental department were a rarity from Holmes.

I cleared a desk on the ground floor in order for us to crack this cypher. Holmes brought in his monograph on secret cyphers, and I enlisted Mother, Astrid and Fishlegs in order for us to crack this code faster.  
>The first day passed quickly, and we had managed to make some progress on it. Holmes was an expert on secret cyphers, Watson had some experience with them from cracking enemy messages during his time in the Army, and while Fishlegs didn't have any experience with cyphers per se, he was one of the smartest persons on the island, so his help was invaluable.<br>That corner in the ground floor became plastered with papers describing and theorizing what each symbol meant. The first day, we found out what a few of the words meant and we had a solid base to go on from there.

I had to go out in order to take care of chiefing or flying Toothless, but other than that, I was with the others, deciphering the documents. Minutes and hours ticked by unnoticed, the only time anyone got up was when we got food and water, and even then, we would eat while we were still cracking the code.

But then, something happened.

It was in the middle of the second day. I was on one of the fur armchairs, taking two aspirins from Watson's medical bag in order to dull my throbbing headache: trying to crack codes immediately after chiefing duties without any breaks combined with Holmes constantly smoking shag tobacco in order for him to concentrate was really starting to take its toll.  
>Holmes and Watson were both around the desk, comparing different papers and exchanging notes.<br>Watson brought in a bottle of brandy and some shot glasses from his room in order to brighten up the mood. I drank a glass of half-brandy, half-water and sleep soon overcame and I collapsed on the sofa, thinking that I should sleep off the last night, as none of us got as much as a wink of sleep the night before.

Astrid was sitting on the sofa, and she quickly took my head in her lap, planting a kiss on my lips just as I slipped into the arms of Morpheus. The sleep was dreamless, thankfully. Almost every time Astrid was by my side, my sleep was peaceful.

No more nightmares, no more having to relive my father sacrificing himself over and over again, no more having to see my best friend as a murderer…

I was then awoken by a loud noise. It was the sound of a glass shattering.  
>I shot up from my sleep to see the cause. Holmes was standing in the middle of the room, as pale as a piece of chalk, looking as if he had seen Death itself. Heck, even if he did see that, I'm sure that Holmes would have told it off with some witty remark and then figured out how to escape it. It was Holmes who dropped his shot glass as soon as he made a certain realization. I had never seen Holmes so frightened.<p>

He was reading and rereading a certain decoded line, and looking at a few other pieces of code that he had stuck to the wall.

"Holmes? What happened? You look as if you've seen a ghost!" I say.

"Exactly." He whispered.

"What?" we all asked in unison confused. Holmes took in a deep breath and calmed himself down a bit.

"Moriarty…" he whispered.

Moriarty!? But he was dead! Moriarty had been killed by Holmes at the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland!

"Professor James Moriarty. He is the real villain." Concluded Holmes with much more determination.

"What are you talking about, Holmes!? He's dead!" said Watson.

"-No, Watson, I'm afraid not. Remember that time when I masqueraded as a lunatic in order to get jailed in the Edelweiss Asylum in Switzerland so that I could find out more about Dr. Strauss' plans, during the case of 'The Awakened'? When I got out, you told me that I looked as if I had seen a ghost. I told you that it was exactly what I had seen, but didn't tell you anything more.

-Wait a minute… so you're saying that… Moriarty…

-Survived the fall at Reichenbach. After that, his brilliant mind was in a vegetable state for many years in Edelweiss. Naturally, the asylum workers had no way of knowing that the man they pulled out of the river was none other than The Napoleon of Crime. But now, he must have regained his senses and escaped the asylum. As soon as he escaped, he must have used his old contacts in order to gain funds and power and used a combination of bribery and blackmail in order to keep his escape out of the newspapers. Who knows what the extent of his criminal empire is now? But, if he has gone as far as allying with, or rather, hiring Drago, we can assume that it was even larger than before." Said Holmes.

I felt my heart beating in my eardrums and I began to sweat despite the cold. The most dangerous criminal that the world had ever known was alive... and he was allied with Drago...

"Why didn't you ever tell me about this, Holmes!?" cried out Watson angrily.

"-My dear fellow, I was sure that he would never awaken from his state. I didn't want to burden with that knowledge without reason.

-Without reason!? Holmes, that's Moriarty that we are talking about! MORIARTY! No one in the world is safe with him alive, vegetable brain or not!" Watson yelled, taking steps toward Holmes, stopping short only of grabbing him by the collar.

I stepped between them in order to defuse the situation.

"Calm down! Both of you! Right, so I will say that this was unexpected, but we can do it! This just means there's twice the scum to take down. That's nothing we can't handle!  
>I defeated Drago and brought peace between dragons and Vikings!<br>You Holmes, have taken down Moriarty and travelled the globe to bring justice, using your brain and brawn for the most noble of reasons.  
>You Watson, you served in two wars, saved countless lives as a doctor, reached the rank of captain in Her Majesty's service, and helped one of the most brilliant men in the world defeat the most dangerous criminal men in the world!<br>Mom, you were the first one to make peace with the dragons, and stood up to Drago.  
>And Astrid… Do I really have to say anything about the great shield maiden?" I finish taking her by the shoulders and kissing her lips tenderly.<p>

"Together, we can do anything!" I cry out more enthusiastically than I had intended.

"Indeed." Said Holmes with a barely concealed smile.

"-Now, if Moriarty has rebuilt his criminal empire, then there must have been some deed done by him that was seen by the press. When I was hunting down Moriarty the first time, the pettiest of thefts could have been connected with the grandest of assassinations or the most daring of heists. I have taken some part of my newspaper archive, but I need new newspapers. As well as information from my brother. Haddock, could you pray lend me a Terrible Terror?

-Sure, why?" I respond.

"I need to send a letter to my brother, Mycroft." Said Holmes. I only stared at him as if dumbstruck. Had he really suggested that?

"-Out of the question, Holmes! We cannot have anyone on the outside know of the existence of dragons!

-He is my brother. And he practically _is _the British government. He can keep a secret. I will admit that while our brotherly relationship is somewhat… rocky, as I don't always approve of his methods, he trusts me as much as he trusts himself. I have helped him numerous times on cases, but Watson wasn't allowed to publish most of them, as they would compromise national security. Me and Watson have worked for the Secret Service numerous times, employed by Mycroft. Naturally, I don't always agree working for The Secret Service, but when I am sure that the certain task has the good of the British Empire and the good of the world as a whole at heart, then I am not hesitant to help them. Moriarty is back, and if he has re-established his crime syndicate, Mycroft will be the one who has all the information about it; when it comes to information about certain groups, Mycroft is the best man to go to.

-I know that Mycroft is a trustworthy man, Holmes. But what do you think his reaction will be when he sees a miniature dragon flying through his window?" I asked.

As a response, Holmes pulled out a piece of paper, folded it and wrote something on it.

"The little Terror shall have this stuck to his chest." He said showing me the paper. '_FROM SHERLOCK. DON'T BE ALARMED, BROTHER DEAR.' _It read in large, capital letters.

"-As soon as Mycroft sees it, he will also see the note. Besides, Mycroft isn't one to panic, not at all, he is even more phlegmatic than I am. He will help us, of that I am sure.

-Alright, but does Mycroft live with anyone? I mean, a cowardly maid or cook could see the Terror, screech in terror, strike the Terrible Terror with a broom and then all Hel breaks loose around Mycroft's house!

-Mycroft only lives with his butler and bodyguard, Carruthers. I can assure you that Carruthers is the very image of a perfect British butler. He never panics, and he is sure to merely inform his master of the dragon rather than try to kill or restrain it.  
>Haddock, we <em>need <em>Mycroft's intelligence on this case. And going back to London would be far too time-consuming at this point. He _is _my brother, Haddock! Can't you trust him?" he finishes.

Holmes was a very persuasive man, when he asked you to do something, you just felt the need to comply. Besides, Holmes had a point. Since Mycroft had access to the highest grade of information within the British government, his help would be invaluable.  
>Besides, I had read about Mycroft in the cases of "The Greek Interpreter" and "The Bruce-Partington Plans" and I certainly couldn't imagine the elder Holmes brother panicking in front of a Terrible Terror without first deducing that it was from his brother. If Holmes was to be believed, then Mycroft was even smarter than he was.<p>

"Alright, Holmes. I just hope this won't backfire." I say. A while later, Sharpy, the same Terrible Terror which let me maintain correspondence with Astrid during my time in London and the same Terror which sent Holmes my letter when I informed him that Samuel Crooke had tried to poison me, had Holmes' message plastered to his chest as well as a letter tied to his leg.  
>Sharpy recognized Holmes and Watson immediately and chirped happily as he saw them. Watson patted him gently as he smiled and Holmes offered him some fish. Holmes gave Sharpy very clear instructions on how to find Mycroft residence. He also told him that if no one is at home then he should wait on the window. And Holmes also told him that, under no circumstance, should he bite Carruthers by the nose or burn down Mycroft's furniture.<p>

Seeing how "playful" Terrible Terrors are, warning Sharpy about that was a must. Sharpy nodded and chirped hapilly and made a move which resembled a military salute. As he flew off with the message tied to his ankle, I once again felt unease stirring in my chest, and it took all my self-control not to shout at Sharpy to come back.

_Mycroft will help us_… _Mycroft will help us… _I kept repeating to myself.

"Haddock, my dear fellow, I have something for you." Said Holmes behind me. As I turned, he drew a gun from his pocket. It wasn't his personal revolver, but a smaller one, his spare gun. It was a short barrel revolver, of a smaller calibre, but it looked professional.  
>It had the letters "SW" inscribed on the handle. I would later find out that it stood for "Smith and Wesson". I glanced at the cylinder and I realized that it was a revolver that was capable of holding not six, but seven bullets.<p>

"I believe that you should have this. I've been meaning to give it to you for some time. Things will get dangerous soon, and your Inferno sword might not be enough. Besides, I figured I owed you something after I endangered Toothless like that. Again, I am sorry." He said looking at the ground in shame.

I took the gun. I never actually handled one before. It was surprisingly heavy for something so small, yet it was easy enough to aim. I had read enough dime novels in London to know that the cylinder was ejected by pressing a button on the left side. Since I was left handed, I couldn't press it with my thumb when I was holding it with my left, so reloading would be a bit more complicated.

"Thanks, Holmes. I just hope I don't have to use it…" I said looking at it. The thought that I would have to kill someone else after Maul was just unbearable.

"Watson, might you be so kind as to give our young friend some shooting lessons? I believe that The Academy shall serve us this purpose wonderfully." Said Holmes.

* * *

><p>"Not bad. Not bad at all. For someone who hasn't handled a gun in their life, you performed excellently." Said Watson as he glanced around the improvised range. I had hit fourteen out of twenty targets.<br>Watson also briefly taught me how to take cover, fire blind shots and how to knock someone down with a pistol-whip. I felt somewhat proud of myself. I always knew I was a good shot with a bow or a crossbow, and it turns out I can do it with anything else.  
>Once I got used to the recoil and the hellish noise, it was all a matter of looking down the notch and accounting for the wind, considering that there is one.<p>

"Thanks for the training, Watson." I say, but I was looking down at my own feet. I knew how to use a gun, but I didn't want to kill anyone. Watson sensed that.

"Hey, think you can also teach me how to just intimidate someone with this?" I ask.  
>"Of course. Intimidation is not as easy as people think, so let's get on with it." he said.<p>

* * *

><p>"Tell me where Drago is, or I'll kill you!" I yelled into Watson face, holding the gun only a centimetre from his face.<br>We had been practicing intimidation for a few minutes now. Since I deplored the mere thought of killing someone with it, knowing proper intimidation was a must.

"A bit better, but you have to make me believe you'll kill me unless I do exactly what you tell me. I have to see it in your eyes." Said Watson matter-of-factly.

See it in my eyes? I didn't have the eyes of a killer: plain and simple.

But maybe I can do something equally intimidating.  
>I grabbed him roughly by the collar and shoved him into a wall as hard as I could. Watson was roughly twice my weight and at least three times stronger, but I took him by surprise and managed to put him down despite that.<p>

I fired a shot so close to his ear that he flinched wildly from the shot, collapsing to the ground. I knelt beside him and grabbed him by the throat while pressing the Smith and Wesson revolver against his chin and I fixed my eyes into sheer determination rather than murder.

"Tell me where Drago is. Now." I say snarling, tightening my grip around his neck and cocking the hammer.

His face turned from surprise into glee, which could have meant either that I did very good or very poorly.

"Very good! If I hadn't known this was only an exercise, I'd have begged for mercy! Well, not me, but any average goon would have wet himself!" he said laughing.

I returned the laugh as I helped him get up and dust his clothes. We left the Academy and returned to the house in order to decode more of those documents. But before that, I spent a few minutes fashioning a pistol holster for my flight gear. The gun slid in and out perfectly.

Not that I wanted to take it out...

The decoding was a lot slower now. The initial buzz was beginning to wear off, and us missing our sleep last night was beginning to take its toll, even on Holmes, who was only kept awake by smoking pipe after pipe.  
>I eventually fell asleep on Astrid's lap once again. But once again, Holmes shouting awoke me. His time there was pure glee on his face.<p>

"Haddock! With what was written on here, combined with what Samuel told us, I was able to isolate the location of where one of Drago's main bases is!" He shouted with a wide Holmesian grin.

"How so?" I asked drowsily rubbing my eyes.

"Samuel told us that he was attacked by an acid-spitting dragon while Drago stopped by at a fort. That dragon could only be a Changewing! Fishlegs here has shown me where their habitats are. This, combined with the location described by these documents narrows it down to just one possible location." He said tapping the map on a certain circle which he had drawn himself. It was an island very close to Berserk.

"That has to be one of Drago's main bases. We take it down, we practically destroy the Archipelago chapter of his operations, or at the very least, severely affect it. Besides, there is a very good chance that Drago or Moriarty are there.  
>I have been able to deduce the main means of defense that that fort disposes of."He said pulling out a sketch of what resembled a fort.<p>

Clearly, Holmes didn't share my talent for drawing, but the drawing was clear enough. There would be siege weapons such as ballistas and bolas, designed to trap or skewer dragons placed on the bridges of the walls.

"In order to minimize casualties, we shall have to destroy these two towers. I have made a study into the layout of old forts, and big siege weapons were always stored in the towers closest to the bridges on which they were placed.  
>Also, have the dragons destroy any small window, there are archers in there, almost certainly with arrows dipped in tranquilizer, or worse, poison. After we soften up their defences, send dragons and men for a full frontal assault. With dragons on our side and their defences knocked out it should be elementary. And with that, Drago and Moriarty will have to give up on taking over the Archipelago.<br>But, of course that will be only the beginning. We'll still have plenty of work to do." Said Holmes with enthusiasm.

I completely forgot how drowsy I was, now I felt as if I had slept an entire day and downed seven cups of sugarless coffee.

"Meeting at the Great Hall in twenty minutes! Announce everyone who has a dragon and is capable to fight to come quickly! This is a turning point!" I yell.

"I'll get Cloudjumper ready for the assault!" announced Mom.

"-Out of the question, Mom! You're still in recovery!

-Cloudjumper shall be of invaluable assistance, of that I can assure you!" she responded quickly.

"-Hiccup, I have the most experience with dragons! You know that Drago has still managed to keep a portion of his dragon army! I will be able to turn them on our side!

-Toothless can do that much easier, Mom, he's The Alpha!

-Yes, but he will have to coordinate our own dragons and take part in the assault! His plasma blast is the best one capable of destroying those towers, so he will be busy. I don't want any dragons to die in this battle, Hiccup, even if they are Drago's!" she said firmly.

I sighed and shook my head. Here she was, almost strangled to death a mere few days ago, now wants to take part in a battle.  
>It was easy to see where I got my stubbornness and recklessness from…<p>

"Fine. You can come. I've done tasks like this while I was injured countless times, so I'd be a hypocrite not to let you." I say to Mom smiling.

"I won't disappoint, Hiccup." She said, returning the smile.

I turned to Holmes and Watson. I was about to tell them that I appreciated their help and that it was their choice to come and that I would not blame them if they refused to come.  
>But they already made their choice: They were each loading their individual revolvers and putting spare rounds in boxes on their belts. Watson took his sword out of his stick and Holmes lit up his replica of Inferno.<p>

"Let's make the final preparations at the Great Hall and do this!" said Holmes and Watson with determination. I too gave my own revolver and sword one final check and nodded to them.  
>We had a fort destroy.<p>

Not only that, with a little luck, we'd also put an end to this permanently, for we knew that Drago and Moriarty might be there…

_**Third person POV:**_ "Do you understand these plans, Dagur?" asked Moriarty in his snakelike voice.

"Yes, yes, Professor, I am the great Dagur the Deranged! Let Hiccup come at me, I'll snap that twig in two!" announced Dagur enthusiastically.  
>Moriarty barely contained his morbid chuckle at this poor insane moron. The Professor knew that Dagur was no longer important: he had been helpful so far, but now Moriarty and Drago would return to London, The Archipelago could wait.<br>Moriarty already had many contacts and owned many companies in Europe under various pseudo-names.

Ammunitions, cotton, opium, steel and others, he owned major branches of each of them. He was also able to coerce and bribe several Lords and politicians to do his bidding.  
>His criminal empire was slowly being rebuilt. He already was one of the most powerful men in Britain without anyone even knowing of his existence.<br>The only reason of his downfall was that he thought that he could hire Sherlock Holmes to do his bidding. However, he had underestimated the man, for Sherlock Holmes was nothing short of his intellectual equal. Holmes had been able to deduce what was behind his lies, and then did everything in his power to stop Moriarty, and he did.  
>But now, the Great Sherlock Holmes thought that he was dead. He could have easily sent one of his or Drago's assassins to kill Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson, but he didn't.<p>

He preferred to keep on working behind the shadows, and then when his plan of world domination was complete, let Holmes know that he was pulling the strings of every major nation in the world, and that the great detective didn't even lift a finger about it. That would be infinitely more satisfying…

He knew that Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third was a man of a genius intellect. He would find out about this fort, if he hadn't already. There were probably Vikings and dragons on their way at this very moment.  
>Dagur would sit here as bait. He would be of no use in Europe. Moriarty knew that Dagur's only qualities were his ruthlessness, determination, and that he is moderately talented in combat. But all t hose talents were easily outweighed by his recklessness, unnecessary levels of cruelty and sadism, and while he did have slightly above average intelligence, he never was of any use.<p>

But now, he would serve as a distraction for Hiccup Haddock. Sure, losing almost everything in The Archipelago was a costly move, but sometimes a winning strategy requires sacrifices.  
>Dagur didn't have the slightest idea that the plans handed to him were gibberish: he would never even have the chance to apply even the first phase of the first "plan".<p>

"Very well. I trust you will not disappoint." Said Moriarty emotionlessly as he put on his suit jacket and top hat. He got out of Dagur's room, ignoring the deranged chief's outstretched hand.

The Napoleon of Crime and Drago Bludvist were now on their way back to London…

* * *

><p>Mycroft Holmes had just returned from the Diogenes Club to his luxurious home in Pall Mall and he had Carruthers prepare a bath for him.<p>

The strange Diogenes Club was famous for its single golden rule: absolutely no talking at any time. Should anyone dare to talk in the graveyard silence of the club, he was kicked out.  
>Mycroft Holmes loved the quiet atmosphere of the Club, as it allowed him to retreat to his Mind Palace and form plans. Since he practically <em>was <em>the British Government, that atmosphere was a must. That and the fact that he was even more antisocial and bohemian than his younger brother, Sherlock Holmes.

In height, Mycroft Holmes was nearly seven feet and his growing paunch was always evident, regardless of the corset he wore, therefore he always was a towering sight, wherever he went.  
>His almost fully grey hair, was brushed backwards, giving the impression that he had long hair. The only physical trait he shared with his brother were the piercing grey-green eyes, which exhibited off-the-charts intelligence.<p>

"Sir! Sir! Pray, come quickly, it's urgent!" came Carruthers' voice from upstairs.  
>Mycroft was an even keener observer and a better logical analyst than his famous brother. He deduced from Carruthers' voice that something unexpected had come up. It wasn't something terrible, like a fire, but it was just as shocking.<br>Carruthers was about as phlegmatic as any British butler got, he only very seldom panicked.

Mycroft rushed upstairs, and he already had twelve different theories formed in his Mind Palace about what Carruthers was worried about.  
>Carruthers was completely shocked when Mycroft got upstairs.<p>

Mycroft heard something which sounded like a chirp. When he looked in the direction of the chirp he was met by a small green-red dragon with a scroll of paper tied to one of its forelegs. It had a piece of paper stuck to its chest which read "_FROM SHERLOCK. DON'T BE ALARMED, BROTHER DEAR."_

Mycroft's only readable feature as he saw this terror was a raised eyebrow.

"Carruthers, the bath can wait. Pray fetch me a pen and paper." Said Mycroft casually to his half-fainted butler and bodyguard.

* * *

><p><span><strong><em>Author's<em>****_ note:__  
><em>****_  
>Mycrof<em>****_t is even more calm and phlegmatic than Sherlock._**

Man, poor Carruthers! XD

Anyway, sorry that not much happened in this chapter, but I tried building some exposition for the big storm that's about to come.

Next chapter will be the most action-packed, fist-fighting, gun-toting, swashbuckling, most adrenaline filled thing I will EVER write! (or at least I'll try to)

See you guys next time! :D


	26. Chapter 25-Death By A Hundred Cuts

_**A****uthor's**** note: Hello, my lovely readers! :D**_

**_I am very sorry I haven't updated in over a freaking month! I've had to study like madman because 12th grade is starting. Also, this chapter is twice as long as usual, so have a beverage near you; this chapter is OVER 14000 goddamn words long! The reason this chapter got so long is because I promised the previous chapter that the next chapter would be about the battle. And... I ended up writing far more set-up than I anticipated._**  
><strong><em>Anyway, I will warn from now that I'll do something pretty evil this chapter. No character deaths, but still pretty damn evil.<em>**

**_So without further ado..._**

* * *

><p><strong><span><em>Haddock:<em>**

In a few moments, every man and woman on Berk who didn't have an urgent task to attend to was in the great hall. In the meantime, Holmes had made several deductions about what the fort was like: It most likely had both Trapper and Berserk troops. It also most likely had the remnants of Drago's dragon army. Without the Bewiderbeast, most of Drago's dragons scattered, but the madman still managed to hold onto many of the dragons, using fear and intimidation to keep them in line. Still, if Toothless called them, they would rebel against their former masters. Unfortunately, since Night Furies aren't the Alpha species, Toothless couldn't control that many dragons at once, so we'd have to restrain the other dragons without killing them until Toothless got to them.  
>I had my map sprawled over the table, the island with the fort circled on it. Me, Holmes, Watson, Mom, Astrid, Eret and some of the smarter Vikings were discussing exactly what approach we should take.<p>

"First we should blow up their towers, take them by surprise. Without their towers, they won't be able to use most of their siege equipment like bolas or ballistas. Afterwards, get on the ground, split up the men and dragons into separate fire teams and stop whatever they are doing there. Chances are Drago, Dagur or Moriarty are there, so if you see them…" I let a morbid silence fall in order for everyone to understand what they had to do if they saw any of those insane bastards.

They had to die. I wasn't going to take any more chances.

Men who kill without reason cannot be reasoned with.

My father had died because I tried to negotiate with a madman. I would not allow another life to be lost because of the same stupid mistake…

"-If you see any dragons, don't kill them. Merely avoid their attacks or trap them until Toothless can control them or me or Mom manages to train them.

-Now wait a minute." Said Watson, making all the eyes in the room fall upon him.

"I understand that those dragons listen to Drago simply because they were enslaved for years, and that Drago's dragon army isn't that big now, but I'm not about to let myself get killed. I understand that all dragons can be tamed, and I believe that we should do all we can to turn them to our side rather than kill them, but I'm not about to let myself get murdered. If a dragon corners me with no way out, I have to defend myself. I'm sure you understand." Said Watson.  
>Many Vikings nodded in agreement with the doctor.<p>

"Doctor, please! If a dragon sees that you're no threat, it won't attack you!" said Mom in an effort to quell spirits.

I agreed with her: all those dragons deserved a free life. After they got enslaved by Drago, they deserved a life on Berk, or in the wild. Even the feral dragons within Drago's army wouldn't attack someone if they saw that they were no threat. But then, of course, Holmes and Watson didn't have any dragon training experience.

"Alright, Watson. But, please, do your best to merely incapacitate them or lead them to Mom or Toothless in order for them be pacified. Same goes for everyone!" I say.

"We shouldn't run in bull-headed. This is one of Drago's main forts. We spy on it first. Tonight, me, your Chief and Toothless will observe the fort. Given that even with Toothless' speed it will take us approximately five hours and twenty-seven minutes to reach the fort, by the time we reach that place it will be dark enough for us to scout without the fear of being spotted. With that I shall be able to deduce everything about this fort's defensive capabilities and the most effective way to counter them without many casualties on our side." Said Holmes.

"Right, until then, everyone who has a dragon, get them and yourselves ready for battle tomorrow! We shall go there by dragon, we cannot waste time with ships. Men and women of Berk, I won't lie, this battle shall be gruelling, they will hold onto their vile plans with their dying breaths.  
>Remember that all of Drago's men are mercenaries, they are motivated by nothing other than coin and the vague idea that dragons are monsters. Well, we are motivated by our quest for peace! We are motivated to make a better world for our children and other people's children! A future in which men and dragons live together! Us, Berkians never seek war, but we will fight like devils if madmen come to us and try to take everything away!" I yell, lighting Inferno and holding it above my head.<p>

The entire Great Hall erupted in cheers and weapons clattering. Even Watson was cheering, waving his sword and revolver above his head.

"I hate speeches." I grumble to Astrid.

"Are you crazy!? Look at them!" said Astrid gesturing to the crowd.

"Right. ENOUGH. Meeting adjourned." I say. Some of the Vikings left, while some of the less intelligent ones frowned in confusion. I sighed and shook my head.

" 'Adjourned' means that it's over." I explain dryly. At this, everyone left, and Astrid, Holmes, Watson and I were the only ones left in the Great Hall.

"Right. Haddock, saddle up Toothless. We shall leave to spy on that fort immediately." Said Holmes.

* * *

><p>Thanks to Toothless' speed, we reached the fort within a few hours. It was dark and we were on a cliff overlooking the island fort, so they couldn't see us. But thanks to the fact that there were a few torches lit, we were still able to see the outside of the fort quite well. It was a rather large castle-like fort and we were able to see several soldiers on night shift duty, either patrolling the bridges around the fort or sitting at windows or watchtowers.<p>

"This fort was recently built: not six months ago." Said Holmes looking through his binoculars. I looked through the binoculars myself.

"How did you deduce it was recently built?" I asked.

"This is a stormy area, yet look at the bricks: they look like new. If it had been here for, say, a year, there would be considerable water damage. And even if they replaced the bricks, they would be distinguishable from the other bricks which the water didn't reach and therefore didn't need replacing." Explained Holmes. Holmes looked through the binoculars again.

"-As I've suspected, there are both Berserkers and Trappers here. While their equipment and wardrobe are virtually identical, I was able to identify trappers by their scars: inflicted on the abdomen, not visible to the untrained eye because they are concealed by their clothing. I can observe that they still are painful: they're scratching it, and some of them are actually visible all the way up their neck. No doubt, it is the exact kind of scar which Drago inflicts on his henchmen when their services are less than satisfactory to the madman. I have no doubt that Drago and Moriarty are not here, but they have left very recently.

-How do you know?

-Look at that group of Trappers: they are way too easy-going. At this hour they should be patrolling and guarding constantly, yet they are chatting, laughing and drinking ale while playing dice over a makeshift table. Is that the kind of attitude a foot soldier would have if he knew that a madman who strangles his underlings or The Napoleon of Crime could come around the corner at any minute?

-Okay, that makes sense. Just a minute… How did you know that Drago and Moriarty left only recently?" I asked without taking the binoculars from my eyes. He gently grabbed my binoculars and directed them to a ballista. That bola was in pristine condition, despite the fact that it clearly was a few years old. But to the untrained eye, it looked brand new. However, as an experienced blacksmith I noticed a loose bolt. It was nothing too serious, but…

"Drago and Moriarty would make their men maintain equipment constantly." I say while staring at that ballista. "That ballista has been maintained constantly for the last few months, every day being mended and checked by someone thoroughly for at least a few hours. Yet, now there is a loose bolt, nothing that would make the machine misfire, but enough that would make Drago mad with anger. But it's clearly been serviced not three days ago. Therefore, that bastard's only just left." I say. Holmes looked… mildly impressed I might dare say.

"Excellent, Haddock, you have developed considerable deductive skill of your own." Said Holmes while lighting a pipe.

"Cigar?" he asked while taking a rather high-quality cigar out of his coat.

"No thanks, I don't smoke at night." I say. I kept on looking through the fort. While the dragons were clearly locked up out of view, I could see clues that there were dragon prisoners around the fort: very thick chains, large gates barred with multiple steel rods and... carving tools.  
>For skinning and dissecting dragons. It made my stomach churn. Toothless could sense them, and he wanted to call to them, but I stopped him: they were clearly bound with chains and calling them would make nothing but sign their death sentence and let Dagur know that we are here and that we would attack the next day.<br>Suddenly, one of the larger gates swung open. I instantly set my binoculars on it. Out of it came…. A Gatling machine gun and an artillery canon.

"Give me those!" said Holmes quickly. I complied. Now they had firearms? Very expensive firearms at that, which are impossible to acquire without signing a contract and stating your business to the munition company, and unless you are The Army or some other government establishment it's impossible to get those guns without someone keeping tabs on you. Wait, unless…

"Moriarty has his claws on weapon companies!" snarled Holmes. I was breathing heavily and my heart was hammering. But I come to my senses.

"Those things are worthless against dragons. The canon and the machine guns were both designed to take out groups of human adversaries, not aerial combat. All we have to do is destroy them before we land and we'll be safe." I say calmly. Holmes looked to me flabbergasted.

"That's… you're right! They are clearly fearing attack, and are preparing for offenses from both humans and dragons! And your strategy is brilliant! Simple, yet elegant and brilliant." Said Holmes as calm as ever, yet I could sense excitement in his voice. I couldn't help but smile. I had just outsmarted Sherlock Holmes.

Then, even without my binoculars, I saw a man. My breath caught in my throat. It was Dagur the Deranged.  
>He was patting the huge weapons proudly while he laughed sadistically. I saw on his belt… some bloody carving tools. He had just used them on dragons who no longer wanted to take part in the dragon army… My breathing quickened and I felt hatred toward that maniac enter all my being.<p>

He would pay. He would pay for every single dragon he ever killed, he would pay for everything that he did to me and Berk all those years. He would pay for destroying his father's peaceful reign and then turning against Berk.

"You bloody bastard." I snarl as I watch him. "I think I'll have that cigar right now." I say to Holmes. I needed to calm my nerves. It was a bit too strong for my taste, but it was enough to calm my nerves.  
>I smoked it (a process which took a couple minutes: it was a cigar, not a cigarette) and then tossed it into the water. As I tossed it, I noticed that I had been gritting my teeth while watching Dagur: I had left deep tooth-marks on the filter, despite the thickness of it.<p>

"Right, Holmes, let's go." I say, now much more calm. "Holmes!" I call out. He was gone.

Toothless was smiling and gestured with his head to the water. A black humanoid figure was underneath it. As soon as its shadow reached the shore, a very tall and thin man emerged and got onto the shore with an expert move despite the fact that he must have been holding his breath for at least two minutes.  
>It was Holmes, in an all-black stealth suit.<p>

"You crazy yak!" I blurt out, but he was too far away in order to hear me. He then started ascending the fort's walls. The prominent bricks and the occasional barred window frame made this process a lot easier for him.  
>Suddenly, a Berserker looked down on the walls. I thought Holmes was done for, and I was just about to jump on Toothless in order to help him. But Holmes simply sunk his head into the wall, sitting completely still.<p>

The Berserker eventually stepped away. Holmes continued ascending the wall. My breath caught in my throat with almost every inch he climbed. Every time he caught a brick, he could have slipped, or a Berserker may have seen him.  
>But he kept on climbing, yard by yard on the rock wall. After a few minutes of watching him, my mind was at ease. He didn't seem to have any problems with climbing and it was too dark in order for someone to notice him in his black gear. But then, he caught onto what he thought was a brick, but it was only a loose rock. The rock fell into the ocean, and he was now holding on for dear life with only one hand.<p>

I gasped for air and I expected him to scream in panic, but he didn't seem fazed by this in the slightest by this life-threatening development. I then jumped on Toothless, determined to pick him up and fly out of here, hopefully unseen. But even in that position from that distance, Holmes gestured to me to stay put with a clear "STOP" motion.  
>Toothless looked beyond worried and terrified for Holmes' life, my dragon had a look of fright in his eyes that I have only very seldom seen. Holmes managed to stabilize one foot, fixing it on a window frame.<br>Any minute, a soldier could have opened that window and Holmes would have been knocked into either the ocean or the sharp rocks below: certain death.

And that was exactly what happened.

The boards from the window swung open and I couldn't help but scream, and Toothless roared in panic, but thankfully we were too far away to be heard. Holmes sensed this in the last moment and lifted his foot in a frenzied panic. His shoe practically brushed against the board. He was holding on for dear life and he eventually found leverage and pulled himself above. If the soldier at the window would look up, then he would see Holmes and it was over.  
>Holmes was holding onto the bricks, now fully stabilized in all of his limbs, but he could only hold on for so long.<br>That Berserker was leaning against the windowsill, looking at the ocean.  
>If Holmes would let out the slightest breath or tried to climb, then he would have been heard.<p>

"Get away from there. Just… close the window and get away." I whispered desperately to no one in particular with my teeth clattering. I have no idea for how long Holmes simply stood hanging there.  
>Seconds? Minutes? Hours? It was all meaningless, I was just watching him through the binoculars without even blinking, praying that the soldier would just get away.<br>Holmes had to stay like that without even breathing. Eventually, I noticed that his limbs started shaking which made Toothless yelp with undisguised worry. A few more moments like that, and he would fall and impale himself on the rocks below.

Suddenly, the soldier yelled as if he had a realization. Did he just figure out that Holmes was above him? Was he going to grab Holmes by the ankle and throw him off mercilessly?

I was praying that that wasn't the case. The soldier then did something I never thought he would do…: he closed the window with a panicked frenzy. Clearly, the scream from the soldier was from some other realization or because he had been called by a superior. I let out a huge breath that I didn't even know I had been holding.

At this point, Holmes had to be beyond exhausted. I could almost hear his heavy breathing. Nevertheless, he continued, occasionally slipping, much to my and Toothless' horror.  
>Then I see something which I didn't think I'd see: he finally reaches the top and climbs over the railing. He distracts the guards by throwing a rock at a rack of weapons, causing them to clatter so loudly that I could just barely hear them even from that distance. The guards rush there, weapons drawn. They then start to search around the fort, but the initial distraction worked well enough that Holmes was able to go toward the Gatling gun.<br>He opened a crate that was near the oversized gun. The crate had an ammunition belt. With that amount of munition, the Berserkers could have kept a considerable number of Berkians pinned down for the entirety of the battle. Holmes took a bullet from the ammo belt and replaced it with something which I couldn't see what it was from that distance. But I did realize that he had sabotaged the machine gun.

"Oh, you sly fox." I say with a smirk.

Holmes then jumped all the way down into the water. It was a drop of nearly a hundred feet. Some of the guards came to the railing to see what was going on, but Holmes didn't resurface and they figured that it was just a rock. I looked at the spot where Holmes fell. My breath caught in my throat again.

I couldn't even see bubbles of breathing where he fell. Was he dead? Had the impact killed him?

I saw that he had fallen head first, hands forward making it impossible to die from impact against the water, but then again I could have been wrong. And he could have been so exhausted from climbing the wall that he just couldn't get out anymore. Me and Toothless were watching the spot where he fell breathlessly.

"Come on. Come on, resurface. You can't die after you did all that." I whispered. But minutes later, he still was at the bottom of the ocean. He had just died because of me.

No. NOOOOO!

"Oh, Holmes, I'm so sorry." I whisper as I felt tears sting my eyes. Toothless made a mournful coo as he came near me. What would we do without him? Heck, what would _the world_ do without him?

Huh. He died by drowning. He was supposed to die by drowning in 1891 at Reichenbach when he fought Moriarty.

Guess fate has a way of catching up to you… Once again, someone had died because of my cowardice and stupidity. I should have gone after him the moment I realized that he went for the fort!

"I'll let Watson that you died like a hero. To ensure our victory." I say sniffing back tears.

"Why, thank you, but I think I'll be able to tell him that myself." Said Holmes behind me.

Toothless and I turned back at him completely shocked. Holmes was sitting on a log, lighting a pipe, his clothes changed, the black stealth suit crumpled up nearby.

Oh, you bloody pompous prick…

"How long have you been sitting there?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Oh, for quite some time now. You said such sweet things, I never knew you cared!" he said with a smirk.

It was then that I punched him in the face.

* * *

><p>It was about noon when we were finally close enough to the fort. We were too far away to be seen, but I could see them very easily by using Holmes' binoculars. Holmes was behind me on Toothless, checking his revolver and Inferno replica.<br>Astrid was on Stormfly on my left and Mom and Cloudjumper were to my right. My heart was hammering in my chest and sweat was coming down my brow despite the cold. In just a few moments, all Hel would break loose…

We could just barely see the fort in the distance, through the fog of the clouds. I could see some Berserkers and Trappers at their posts at watchtowers. Bolas and ballistas were on the walls. The cannon and the Gatling gun weren't out in the open, but I knew that they were somewhere inside the fort, ready to be brought out at any minute.  
>I turned around on Toothless to face the Berkians who had come on their dragons.<p>

Only six years ago, I was considered the runt of the litter, a useless talking fishbone.  
>Some of the braver Vikings even said behind closed doors that I was too scrawny to be Stoick the Vast's offspring and that Mom must have been unfaithful to Father during one of her travels. Now, they were all looking at me expectantly, to give them orders, to battle alongside them, to lead them to glory, to be their <em>chief<em>.  
>I took a deep breath in and out and repeated the process until I felt calmer.<p>

"This is it, brave men, women and dragons of Berk! We have defeated the Red Death six years ago and the Bewilderbeast when all the odds were stacked against us. There is nothing we can't do! Over there is the main fort of the Berserkers and Trappers. We cut off the head, and the snake dies.  
>They call us cowards and traitors to our kin for making peace with the dragons. I call them barbarians for not seeing what dragons truly are. They haven't moved on from their primitive bloodlust, and they see any form of peace as cowardly. Well, then, let's show them how wretched war truly is! Show them what it means to earn a dragon's loyalty! Show them the wrongfulness of their ways!" I yell, lighting Inferno and holding it above my head.<p>

The Berkians all erupted into a battle cry. I smiled to myself, my smile concealed by my mask. Looks like I was better at speeches than I thought.

"Inspiring." Said Holmes simply as he flicked his half-smoked cigarette into the ocean.

"Thanks." I responded equally simply. I called over all the Berkians with dragons that were capable of explosive blasts, such as Gronckles. First, we had to take out the towers and the siege weapons. The other dragons would remain behind, charging as soon as we destroyed the initial threat.  
>Of course, Toothless' plasma blast was the most powerful of such blasts, not to mention that the fact that he was the Alpha meant that he could coordinate the dragons' attacks excellently. I took in one last deep breath.<p>

I had once said that courage was not the absence of fear, but being afraid and pushing forward anyway. Never had I found that truer than in this case.

"CHARGE!" I yelled. The dragons soared through the air, all at top speed. I was using special breathing techniques to calm the heart that Holmes had taught me, but even so, my heart was beating so quickly that I could actually hear it.

"DRAGON RIDERS! ALARM! GET TO YOUR POSITIONS!" yelled a lieutenant to his men. He had yelled too late. Toothless roared to the dragons to fire, and they all targeted the towers as well as the bolas that were on the walls. Some missed, most didn't, and watchtowers came down crumbling into the ocean with a deafening _***CRACK***_ .  
>The bolas fired, but I was prepared: this is why I had some of the dragons stay behind- with fewer dragons, it was far more difficult to hit us with bolas.<br>Eret decided to stay and press on and destroy more of the watchtowers and to disperse the Berserkers and Trappers using Skullcrusher's superior flame.

That was his big mistake.

One of the bolas remained unfired and one of the soldiers managed to run to it and shoot Skullcrusher with it. The bola was not enough to wrap itself around Skullcrusher's large frame, but it was more than enough to immobilise his wings and to make him come spiralling downwards.  
>Worst of all: Skullcrusher fell in a way that trapped Eret, and now soldiers were coming toward him and his dragon. Skullcrusher was bashing away and breathing fire at the advancing soldiers, but he could only do so much while he was immobilised.<br>It was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed.

I froze. I knew I couldn't send anyone to help him without compromising the entire strategy that me and Holmes developed and that would be the most likely to cause the least casualties through our ranks.

"Drop me off there! Don't waste any time!" yelled Watson to Mom as he readied his revolver.

"I'll join him! Drop me off!" said Holmes behind me. I swooped over there and Holmes jumped off straight onto a Berserker's back.  
>Watson jumped off Cloudjumper at the same time and landed onto another advancing soldier who wanted to throw his axe at Skullcrusher.<br>Watson pinned the man to the ground while holding his wrist so he couldn't use his axe.  
>The doctor then threw a series of quick jabs to the soldier's face in order to knock him out.<br>Holmes used a far more elegant approach: after the Berserker was knocked down he was instantly able to get up, but that's exactly what Holmes wanted: he threw two jabs at well-chosen pressure points on the torso and kicked the man in the face as he bent over in pain.

We then went in for another swoop over the remaining watchtowers. As we did so, a few other bolas managed to hit some Berkians. It was clear that Moriarty had been here, because their defensive strategies were too good to have been conceived by Drago or Dagur: we took them by surprise, and yet they were all their posts almost instantly.  
>Thankfully, all the Berkians and dragons who were hit by bolas fell in areas that were free of soldiers. Toothless roared commands to the other dragons as we swooped over for another attack and I looked below me carefully so that I didn't get hit by a bola or a ballista.<p>

_**Watson:**_ After I knocked out the man whom I had landed on I quickly looked to where Skullcrusher was bound up and was smacking anyone who came close to him with his head and tail. It was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. Eret was struggling to get out of his saddle, but he was trapped. At the same time, two soldiers approached the former trapper and his dragon.

One of them was about to shoot Eret with a crossbow, the other climbed on Skullcrusher's back and was about to brain him with an enormous axe. Well, it wouldn't have been enough to kill the huge dragon, but he wouldn't have been able to move after the blow regardless.

In an instant I pull out my revolver. I quickly realize that I had to shoot the crossbowman first: Skullcrusher was struggling, therefore the axeman kept on tripping, so it would take him a while to reach the head. I shot the crossbowman square in the forehead, killing him instantly, and I quickly ran my palm over the hammer in order to load the next round faster, Sure, I wasn't a man who killed without reason, in fact after killing the young man who tried to kill Cloudjumper I felt more guilt than I had in a long time. However, taking down scum of this magnitude wouldn't cause me to lose any sleep.  
>I turn to Skullcrusher and I see that his attacker was already very close to his head and was already raising his axe!<p>

I quickly realize that I didn't have enough time to properly aim at the Berserker, so instead I took a gamble and took a quick snapshot.  
>Since Skullcrusher was struggling and fighting off other soldiers who were approaching him, the soldier on top of him was also shaking, so it was difficult to get a proper aim.<p>

The bullet rips through his shoulder and he falls off, the axe clattering near him. I rush to Skullcrusher to cut his ropes off.  
>However, I notice that the bullet had just grazed the Berserker's shoulder and he was now reaching for his axe.<p>

"I'd leave that alone if I were you." I say, shoving the barrel of the revolver only inches from his face while glaring at him. His eyes widen and he instantly rolls backwards from the axe.

"Smart man." I say smiling just before I knocked him out with a kick to the face. I quickly cut off the binds that were holding Skullcrusher with my swordstick. He instantly charged toward a group of advancing soldiers so quickly that he actually knocked me backwards several yards. I was quickly helped up by Eret who recovered surprisingly quickly from being pinned by a dragon who was twice the size of an elephant.

"Thanks for the save." He says smiling. I would have returned the smile, but there was no time for pleasantries. More towers crumbled into the oceans as dragons shot at them.

I had to quickly roll out of the way so that I didn't get squished by a large chunk of wall.

Then I see something which made my blood go cold: two Berserkers taking the canvas off a… canon. It was already fully cocked.  
>I tackle Eret into cover just before it fired. I could actually feel the cannonball whizzing past my ear.<p>

Holmes had told me that they had firearms, courtesy of Moriarty, but thankfully they only seemed to have the one canon and one Gatling gun which Holmes had mentioned. The cannonball went past us and straight toward the dragon armada above. Thankfully, they managed to dodge, but only just.

I was already starting to lose control over my senses: I was breathing heavily, sweat was forming on my brow and I felt an overwhelming need to hide. I hadn't been in a proper battle since Afghanistan. Sure, I was no stranger to fistfights and shootouts, but this was a battle: anything could happen, and I hadn't been in a proper one for sixteen years.  
>I close my eyes and take in a few deep breaths, using breathing techniques to calm myself. It worked.<p>

I survived years in India and Afghanistan, I survived when the rest of my regiment had been wiped out. I could shoot a coin in the air. I had helped the great Sherlock Holmes solve crimes and stop villainous megalomaniacs like Moriarty or Blackwood. If I survived that, I could do anything.  
>After the initial artillery shell, I knew that they had to reload it, so I got out of cover to shoot whoever commandeered the canon.<p>

However, Valka beat me to it, soaring with Cloudjumper overhead, sending a tornado-like flame to the canon wielders. Some ran away, while others were not that lucky and were burned to a crisp.  
>Some of the riders then landed and not a moment too soon: Berserkers and Trappers were now getting out of the fort from all directions. The two armies collided, but the dragons were attacking from all directions, therefore the occupants of the fort couldn't send a powerful, concentrated counter-attack, because the entire fort was under siege.<br>They were outnumbered and we easily overpowered them.

I then spot something on the corner of my eye: it was a trapper running from the battle. I could tell from the way he was running that he was going somewhere specific, not just running in terror.  
>I followed him and I reached a corridor. I drew my gun (which still had two rounds loaded) and advanced.<br>Suddenly, the young trapper jumped out of dark doorframe with a mace. I noticed him too late and he knocked the gun out of my hand.  
>I was lucky that I had been quick enough to retract my hand and that he only hit my gun, otherwise I would have lost several fingers. The gun clattered to the ground and it discharged.<p>

The sudden loud noise made the soldier cringe and I took this opportunity to send a powerful left jab which connected with his nose with a wet crunch.  
>I then raised my stick and tried to hit him in the gut with the steel knob. He parried with his mace at the last moment and then headbutted me.<br>It felt as if someone had dropped a boulder on my head.

I fell a few feet backwards, hissing in pain. He slowly approached me while clutching his broken nose. I wouldn't get up just yet: I had a plan.  
>I pretended to be seriously injured and I groaned while clutching my face. He chuckled morbidly as he raised his mace to smash my head in. Just a fraction of a second before his mace connected with my head, I rolled out of the way suddenly and his mace sunk into the stone.<br>I then swept his legs with a Japanese technique that I had picked up from the Army. He fell and I quickly stomped his abdomen in order to stun him. He yelled in pain as I did this and I knew that I had broken some ribs.

I then quickly picked up my stick just as he was getting up. I drew my sword from my stick and slashed his thigh.  
>He yelled as blood shot up.<p>

Now he was hurt. He was _really _hurt.

I then rip off his helmet, grab him by his long blonde hair and I smash his head against the wall twice, knocking him out instantly.

I was breathing heavily and I quickly wiped my brow and then picked up my revolver. There was no time to rest, I would treat my bruises later.

But why had he ran here? I heard a sound like someone slamming a door really hard. I turn around and I see a large wooden double door. The man had managed to remove one of the latches, but I happened upon him before he could open the door completely. The latch was beginning to break.

Suddenly, the door burst open, sending splinters of wood everywhere, revealing a large Monstrous Nightmare. I could tell from the marks on its wrists that it had been put into tight shackles often, and there were scars caused by whips and daggers on its hide, showing just how cruelly it had been tortured.

But what got to me the most was its eyes… the eyes of a killer.

After the fall of the Dark Bewilderbeast, all that Drago had to keep his dragons in line was pure fear and intimidation.

It opened its mouth to fire, but I rolled out of the way into cover, feeling the blistering heat wave just inches from my face.  
>I was panicking. I knew that the right course of action was to try and train it, but this poor dragon had been conditioned against humans. It would attack anyone, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep calm enough in order for me not to seem a threat. I could hear it roaring and I could hear its rapid footsteps. I knew that I had to defend myself, but I didn't want to kill it, remembering my promise to Valka and Haddock.<p>

I snapped out of cover and aimed my final shot at its front leg. My last bullet ripped through its leg, causing the Monstrous Nightmare to roar in pain and anger. I knew I didn't have time to reload, so I just put my pistol back in my coat holster and I ran without looking back, hoping that Valka or Haddock could train it or that Toothless could control its mind. I was close to turning a corner and I could still hear the sounds of battle.

"Help!" I yelled. It wasn't particularly brave of me, I knew, but I couldn't take the dragon on my own without killing it in the process and I also knew that the bullet in its ankle would only slow the beast down. I was just about to get out of the corridor into the open, when suddenly, volcanic fire caused some beams and bricks from above to fall, causing me to stumble.

I rolled on my back, completely panicked. I drew my sword from my stick. I knew that the dragon didn't deserve to die, but I wasn't about to let myself get killed. Unfortunately, as soon as I drew my sword, the Nightmare smacked it with his tail which caused it to fly from my grasp.  
>The good news was that it also sliced a section of his tail clean off. I certainly was glad that I had sharpened the sword only weeks ago and didn't use it since then.<p>

It roared and hissed in agony, but the dragon still kept me pinned with his claw. With one swipe he could have slit my throat.

I then get one hand free, determined to take advantage of his pain. I punch his bullet wound, causing it to yell and screech even further. His grip weakened, but I still couldn't break free. But then, he pinned me harder and retracted his injured limb so I couldn't hit it.  
>I try to claw at its eyes, knowing that this was my last hope, but it raised its head to a remarkable height.<p>

The Nightmare's eyes gleaned with fury, hatred and… murder. That gaze chilled me to the bone.

I tried to scream, but I found that I had no oxygen left in my lungs, and with the dragon's mighty paw pinning my throat, there was no chance to refill them. The dragon opened its maw and I could see fire forming at the back of his throat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my mind being overwhelmed by only one thought: I am going to die.

Suddenly, I heard a snarl of rage from a vaguely familiar voice and thrashing. Suddenly, the Nightmare's claw no longer was on me. I open my eyes to see Eret on the dragon's back, using some Trapper technique to get it off me and to turn his attention to him. I felt a giant surge of gratefulness toward Eret enter all my being.

I was about to try and help him trap the dragon, when Valka ran to us yelling "STOP!" Eret got off the dragon, and it was just about to attack Valka. She didn't even blink as she calmly put her hand forward. The dragon looked fascinated by whatever she was doing and he then simply fell on his back, fast asleep. I was breathing heavily, my shaking hands on my knees.

"We're even." I say breathlessly to Eret.

"Tell me, Doctor, have you ever been in a more perilous situation?" asked Eret. I smile at him.

"Very rarely, I must admit. But yes." I respond with a forced smile.

Holmes, Haddock and Astrid all came running into the corridor, Toothless and Stormfly in tow. We had to change positions in order to fight the other occupants of the fort, and while the rest of the Berkians used their dragons in order to get there, we decided to go straight through the corridors inside the fort.  
>As we went through the fort (meeting very little resistance, because they were mostly on the outside trying to defend against Berkians and dragons) I suddenly noticed a very foul smell. I wasn't the only one who noticed it, for Holmes was taking in deep breaths, trying to discern just what that smell was. I figured out what the smell was: as a doctor I instantly recognized the smell of blood.<br>But it smelled… different from human blood. Valka was now noticing the smell herself, as she now scrunched her nose with disgust and horror.

"That smell is…" Valka began stuttering in horror.

"Dragon blood." Holmes cut her off. Though his face and voice were as deliberate and stoic as always, I could a sense a hint of shock in them. I was myself feeling nervous, and it wasn't just from the battle. The smell was coming from a door. Holmes put his ear to the door.

"Four Berserkers shooting crossbows. This is a good vantage point for them. One of them is wearing an iron shoulder pad: every time he puts the crossbow to his shoulder it gives off a metallic clink. They also have plenty of arrows, every time they reload I can hear dozens of arrows clattering in boxes." Deduced Holmes. We all readied ourselves.  
>Me and Holmes drew our revolvers and sat on either side of the small wooden door. Holmes then nodded to me.<p>

As soon as he did this, I kicked the door down. Two of the Berserkers were shooting from windows directly on front of us.  
>We both shot them before they could even turn around.<p>

I spun around looking for the other two Berserkers. As I did this, I identified the source of the foul smell: on tables there were dragons, carved up and butchered in the most dreadful of ways.

Shocked as I was by this discovery, I had to take care of the other two Berserkers. They turned around from some windows on the other side of the room. One of them had his crossbow fired and useless, the other fired at me.

In the last moment, I dived to the side, feeling the arrow whizz past my ear as I shot him in the chest while in mid-air. Pain shot through my elbow as I landed and dust went into my nostrils, choking me. But this wasn't the only thing that choked me… The smell of blood almost made me gag.

But I didn't have time to dwell on that, as the other Berserker loaded his crossbow.

"Drop it!" I demanded, gun pointed at him. He looked to me with hatred, but he knew that he couldn't fire the crossbow faster than I could pull a trigger, not to mention that Holmes also had his gun pointed at him, so he reluctantly dropped his weapon. I then holstered my gun, wiped sweat off my brow and straightened my suit.

My readers will forgive me if I do not describe in full detail the manner in which those poor dragons were butchered mercilessly.

They had been carved up simply to be tortured and possibly to serve as an example.  
>Of course, after the fall of the Dark Bewilderbeast, most dragons in Drago's dragon army rebelled. These must have been the latest ones to have not listened to their masters… All of our companions gasped in shock as they saw the mutilated corpses.<p>

I had seen many things in my life.

I had seen tortured British soldiers at the hands of murderous Afghans and Indians. I had seen my army comrades getting turned into unidentifiable heaps of gore by artillery shells.

I had seen brutal, unthinkable murders during my time with Holmes.

I had seen cultist maniacs performing sadistic rituals during the case of The Awakened.

I had seen the murders of the infamous Jack the Ripper.

Few of these could turn my stomach the same way that seeing these dragons did.  
>Valka fell to her knees and threw up. Me and Haddock quickly helped her up and as soon as we did this, she threw herself into her son's arms, nearly flooring him. Normally, Valka was a very strong woman, but seeing the very creatures that were the closest thing she had to a family for twenty years being torture-murdered in this manner was too much for her. She was breathing heavily, holding back tears and Haddock rubbed circles on her shaking back in an effort to comfort her.<p>

"Don't look there, Mom. Just… don't look there…" said Haddock softly.

Valka eventually stepped out, waiting with the others. It certainly was a good thing that the doorway was far too small for Toothless or Stormfly to enter it…

"Dagur did this." Haddock snarled.

"When me and Holmes went scouting last night, I saw him through the binoculars. He had bloody carving tools and daggers on his belt. These dragons died last night, but this one was killed just now." Said Haddock, looking at a malnourished purple Nadder.

Only that she wasn't dead… she cooed weakly.

There was no way that she would survive. Her wings were crushed and useless, her torso was cut open and she had already lost gallons of blood. She looked to us with confusion. She was confused that we had killed her torturers. She was confused that humans were more than just dragon killers.

"She's alive!" exclaimed Haddock. He was about to yell after Valka to treat her when I stopped him.

"Haddock, there's _nothing_ we can do for her. Except…" I sighed and drew my gun. "Put her out of her misery." I said gravely.

He gasped and was about to yell at me when Holmes stepped in. "Haddock, look at her. If Watson or your mother would try to treat her, they would only prolong her suffering. Is that what you want? Hasn't she suffered enough?" said Holmes. Haddock bit his lip and nodded at me as tears pricked at his eyes.

"Do what you have to do." He said in a barely audible whisper. Haddock, Eret, Astrid, Valka and Holmes all formed a line behind me like people would at a funeral service. They all bowed their heads in respect and Holmes removed his deerstalker in respect and his normally expressionless eyes now spoke volumes of pity and sorrow.

"I'm sorry." I whisper to the Nadder as I level my revolver to her head. She managed a… sad smile.  
>It was unbelievable, the first human she ever met who wasn't a psychotic dragon killer was the one who actually ended her days.<br>And with that cruel, ironic thought, I pulled the trigger.  
>I felt a gigantic need to make the Sign of The Cross, but I decided against it, settling for just whispering a prayer to myself.<p>

Suddenly, as I thought of the cruel fate of the Nadder, I heard a gunshot.  
>The Berserker who had surrendered tried to shoot me with his crossbow, but he was now on his back, a small red circle on his forehead, eyes still open as he didn't even get to close them before he was shot. Holmes must have shot him.<br>Except… Holmes wasn't presently armed.

Haddock was aiming his 38. Smith and Wesson at the man and then holstered it. He didn't look as shaken as I thought he would, since he had expressed his reluctance to kill to me while I was teaching him how to shoot. But even a good man like Haddock cannot feel guilt over such bastards. Not after he saw those poor dragons.

"Thanks. Nice shot." I say, patting his shoulder as we exited that cursed room.

He simply exhaled in return, looking down at his own shaking hands while breathing heavily. So it _did _affect him, after all…

I didn't have time to remind him that he did this in order to save my life, because in the next second, Spitelout and Gobber were running into the corridor.

"Hiccup! Get Toothless down there, quickly! They released their dragon army, and we can't stop them without killing them. We need the Alpha's mind powers!" they yelled. Haddock quickly went with Toothless in tow to a balcony and took off. Some of the Trapper's dragons started turning against their masters, but others kept on firing and clawing at the Berkians and the other dragons.  
>No one wanted to kill them.<p>

"Toothless won't be able to control them all, the Night Furies aren't the Alpha species!" said Valka with concern, yet determination at the same time. She whistled loudly as she climbed the balcony railing.

"What are you-" I didn't get to finish my question before she jumped off, reappearing atop Cloudjumper in the next second.

"Those can't be the only dragons in the dragon army of this fort. I'm going to where the rest of them are to train them. As soon as they turn to our side, the remaining dragons down there will follow their kin." Said Valka. I have to say, that was a brilliant plan, but she had to get help. I was about to jump on Cloudjumper to accompany her, when suddenly, she took off without another word.

_**Valka:**_ I quickly realize where the dragons were being held: I noticed two very large trapdoors on the final floor of the fort. Of course, the dragons were held the highest up: that way, when they were released, they could dive-bomb with their blasts and cause the most havoc.  
>Toothless was already having trouble with diverting himself between coordinating the attacks of our own dragons and turning the fort's dragons to our side. But if I could get to them before they were released, I could train them and then send them on our side. I had trained many of Drago's dragons while he still had the Bewilderbeast, so training them when they didn't even have a dragon leader would be elementary.<br>Cloudjumper landed me on a bridge of sorts which connected two parts of the fort. There were some Berserkers firing arrows at the battle, but Cloudjumper knocked them out with his tail and wings before they could even turn around . I quickly got off him, whacking a groaning soldier who wasn't properly unconscious in the process.

"Go help the others, Cloudjumper!" I yell to him. He roared in disapproval.

"Cloudjumper, you can't even fit inside the fort! Please, go help Hiccup and Toothless and the rest. You're the Alpha's second in command, you can't just sit here waiting for me! Protect my son for me, will you?" I say looking at him kindly.  
>He now changed his glance from anger to pleading. He only very rarely had that look and only used it when he wanted something, like a puppy. However, now he wanted something far more important than belly rubs or extra fish. I realize from my time with him that he wanted me to promise him that I'd be alright.<p>

"Oh, Cloudjumper… You know that I'll be alright. I would never leave you alone. I promise, I won't let _this _happen again." I say pointing to my neck mark. He winces as I do this and he nuzzles me while cooing.

"Go!" I say. He reluctantly glides downwards to the ongoing battle. I look at him sadly. There wasn't actually any guarantee that I'd come back… but I'd train those dragons and ensure our victory as well as ensure that no dragon would die in this battle.  
>I kick open the door (which took about three attempts) which led to where I deduced that the dragons were being held. I had left behind my bullhook on Cloudjumper's saddle, it was too long to swing indoors and it would make me too conspicuous. Instead, I settled for a wooden bludgeon. I would sneak around and I knew how to instantly knock out someone with it.<p>

I climbed up the staircase, surprised at the lack Trappers or Berserkers. But after all, they needed every man they could get down at the battle, so it wasn't that surprising, I thought. I reached the top and I looked through the keyhole of one of the doors. I could practically smell the dragons. There were two guards in the room, alongside about a dozen dragons of different species, all of them bound with chains and clear signs that they had been tortured and malnourished.  
>I couldn't take both of them at the same time, I knew that much, but I notice something else: the door was rather flimsy, just one kick would have been enough to bring it down. And one of the guards was constantly walking around the edges of the room. All I had to do was wait for him to come around the door and…<p>

I kick the door in and it does just as I hoped: it knocked the guard down, but it didn't knock him out. One strike from my bludgeon on his face fixed that.

The other started to yell "ALARM!" as he drew his axe. I threw a chair at him and he swung his axe at it. The axe didn't shatter the chair, as he had hoped, instead, it merely lodged itself into it. I ran to him and whacked him in the ribs.  
>He groans in pain as I do this and I raise my club for the final blow which would knock him out cold: his face.<br>As I swing it, he lets go of his useless axe lodged deeply into the chain and catches my bludgeon when it was merely inches from his head. Now he was trying to disarm me. I could see that he was a rookie, he was quite young and any experienced fighter would have twisted my arm and disarmed me instantly, yet he was merely trying to wrestle the club from my hands.  
>Only that what he lacked in experience, he made up for in strength, I knew that it would only be moments before I was without a weapon and most likely a broken jaw. In an instant, a plan flashed in my head: I faked terror and the Berserker became more confident, smiling sadistically as he was sure he had won.<p>

As he was focused on my (seemingly) terrified face, I kicked him in the groin. He screams in agony and he lets go of my weapon collapsing to the ground. I hit him one last time, the blow breaking his nose and knocking him out cold.  
>I then went over to the dragons who were snarling at me. I kept my calm and I tossed the bludgeon aside. Using my twenty years' experience, I could train them almost instantly, I could have even made them fall asleep, yet that wasn't exactly in my interest then. I couldn't help but smile at them. It always made me smile, seeing a previously feral dragon now watching me with curiosity and playfulness. I take the keys from the belt of one of the guards and unlock all of the locks that held the dragons. I then opened the large trapdoors which also doubled as windows and pointed at the battle.<p>

"Your Alpha is over there! Help him! And tell your kin to also follow him, for they are still in the service of these madmen!" I shout.

They didn't need to be told twice. I watch them as they fly outside and they join the battle. They roared at the few dragons that were still helping the fort, and now all the dragons were on our side. I pump my fist into the air while shouting "YES!"

It was over… We had won…

My joy was short-lived however…

I feel a strong hand grabbing me by the hair, slamming my head against the wall and throwing me to the ground. I was about to grab something to defend myself, but in the next second, he kicked me in the ribs: hard. I couldn't help but yell in pain: one of my ribs must have snapped.  
>I look up to my attacker and my heart froze: it was Dagur.<p>

Dagur the Deranged.

I had been unfortunate enough to have some run-ins with him since my return to Berk, but then Hiccup was always there to save me. Now I had _nothing_.

"Lookie, lookie! It's Hiccup's mother!" said Dagur in a maniacal, sing-song voice.

"Oh, did you find those dragons who were dumb enough to rebel against me? I enjoyed killing those beasts slowly." He said in a slow, deliberate voice with a sadistic grin. I knew that he was talking about the dragons that we found in that blasted room, in which the doctor had to put a young Nadder out of her misery. I felt the need to gag as he said this. He _enjoyed _torturing dragons?

"Don't you dare call dragons 'beasts'! You're the only monster in this fort!" I snapped back, which earned me another kick in the ribs that made roll on my stomach. At this point, my vision was becoming blurry from sheer pain.  
>But even through the haze, I can see something. My bludgeon. If I could reach for it quickly, I could defend myself. Everything hurt, but I wouldn't let myself get killed by this madman without a fight.<br>I had made Hiccup and Cloudjumper a promise that I would be alright. I didn't want to break that promise.

_Another _promise...

When Hiccup was born, I had promised him that I would always be there for him, a promise which I spat on, something which I will never forgive myself for...

My plan was to quickly grab the bludgeon, but moving caused unmeasurable amounts of pain in my ribs. Nevertheless, little by little, I manage to reach the weapon.  
>But then, Dagur chuckles and kicks it away weakly. Of course, how could I forget about him? I was beaten, I couldn't think straight.<p>

I left my hand in the same position after failing to grab the club: I was way too weary to even move.

"Are you done, you dragon whore? Because I'm not!" said the deranged maniac grinning. I don't even have time to wince at the insult of 'whore' before he stomps his foot down on my hand and hold it down. I could feel and hear every individual bone and finger snapping under his boot.

I don't remember if I screamed, but judging from how he was laughing all the time, I did. After he was done, my hand was crushed and was in a strange position. He then walked around me and suddenly kicked me in the face with force.

I thought that I was so beaten that I couldn't feel pain anymore. I was wrong.

His kick was like a boulder being dropped on my face. All the pain returned, my ribs, by hand, even parts of my body which he didn't strike. He then grabs me by the hair and drags me to a room. The room was quite some distance away, and he dragged me by the hair constantly, but after getting beaten in that manner, I couldn't even feel getting dragged by the hair.

The room was guarded by two very large Berserkers, his personal bodyguards, I deduce, because that's the only way they'd still be here while Berkians and dragons were winning outside.  
>The room was very small, with only an iron chair in the middle. It was a prisoner's chair, but not just any prisoner's chair: there were handcuffs on each arm and two more on the legs of the chair to bind the prisoner completely.<br>It wasn't from the Archipelago, it must have been a 'gift' from Moriarty. They force me onto the chair and handcuff me. I knew I couldn't resist. I was beaten and weak, there was no way I could fight Dagur and his two personal bodyguards, not without dying.  
>I didn't want to die, not because I feared death, but because I didn't want to leave Hiccup.<p>

Not again.

"How much time do we have left before Berk's armada reaches this spot?" asked Dagur one of his men.

"About thirty minutes, sir. The Gatling gun will slow them down." Responded the burly man gruffly.

"Alright! Perfect! Perfect! I have just enough time!" said Dagur like a child on Snoglettog morning.

Just enough time for what? His eyes were wide with insanity and he approached his face to mine until I could see every one of his features, each ruined by deranged insanity.  
>I backed off as he did this, making him grin. I thought for a second to kick him in the groin, but I remembered that my feet were cuffed, there was no way. He opens a drawer and withdraws a book and a box of something.<p>

"You know, Valka, you call me a beast for torturing those dragons. But know that I did my research beforehand, I didn't just start slicing them up like a butcher. No, I sliced them up like a _surgeon_." He said showing me the book. It wasn't a Viking book, the cover was hard and red, the pages creamy and smooth, not brown and rough. Not to mention that the title was in Latin characters.

"The History of Torture" read the book. I let a gasp escape my throat. I had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to do with that book. And that meant that the box could only contain…  
>He opened it and confirmed my worst suspicions: scalpels, tongs, corkscrews, hammers, each of them designed to inflict unspeakable pain on the human body. I was breathing heavily and I was involuntarily trying to force the shackles to no avail. These shackles would have been able to hold Cloudjumper down, let alone me.<p>

Cloudjumper…

I remember sending him away… I remember promising him that I'd be alright… First I broke promises to Hiccup, now to my dragon.

What a pathetic, worthless runt I was. I felt _useless_.

Useless…

Wasn't that how Hiccup felt the first fifteen years of his life? When I should have encouraged him and told him that he wasn't useless, that what he lacked in brawn, he more than made up for it in brain? Yes, this was my punishment.

This was it…

Dagur took out a corkscrew from the box. Its point was razor-sharp and it gleamed in the candlelight.

"This is for gouching eyes out." He said smiling.  
>I was breathing heavily as he approached the screw to one of my eyes.<br>I could see its razor only inches from my face, approaching slowly, taking all the sweet time in the world.

I squeezed my eyes shut, not knowing what else to do. I felt the tip of the razor touching my eyelid.  
>This was it, in a few seconds I would be blind for life.<p>

"But that's not what I'll do now. It's way too messy. Besides, the screw might reach the brain and end the session prematurely." He says tossing the corkscrew away.

I sighed in relief, although I knew that I wouldn't escape another form of torture. He then takes out a hammer.

"This is for crushing bones." He says almost dreamily. He raises it near my knee and brings it down. It missed my knee by only a centimetre, causing me to scream in anticipation, but the hammer fell harmless near me as he dropped it.

"No. I've broken enough bones, don't you think?" he asked maniacally as he touched my ribs and my hand with his hammer, causing me to wince in pain. He then went through his entire torture kit, showing me each tool before throwing it away.

"This won't do." He said simply as he tossed a scalpel aside.

"This won't do, this won't do…" he said calmly as he kept on going through tools. "THIS WON'T BLOODY DO!" he shrieked suddenly, tossing the entire kit at the wall, causing me to jump in surprise. The razor-sharp objects all fell on the ground.

"No, I think that for this, I'll go back to the basics." He said drawing his dagger.

"My name _is _Dagur, after all." He said cheerfully. He placed the dagger on my cheek, holding it until it caused a paper cut.

I breathed out violent sighs of relief as he retracted the blade. He then took the "History of Torture" and began leafing through it.

"The Romans had some pretty nifty techniques. The Arabs, too. Oh… this is one of my favourites… medieval torture… having your legs tied while the rest of you was being pulled by a wheel, your skull crushed by a vice, and of course, burning at the stake…" as he said this, the deranged psychopath had a dreamy look, as if watching people dying from torture was his biggest aspiration.

"But I'll settle with the Chinese. You've got to give it to them, when they killed you, they did it properly! Boiling water, eaten alive by tigers… you know that the Ancient Chinese worshipped dragons, right? Then this should be a pleasure for you…" I felt a cold shiver run across my whole body.

The bodyguard had said that it would take Hiccup and the rest thirty minutes to reach me. Only about ten minutes had passed…

"Oh… this one is my favourite!" grinned Dagur while putting the book on the table. He then took his dagger and slashed my bicep with it. I yelled in pain, no matter how much I didn't want to give that bastard the satisfaction.|

"During the Ming dynasty, this form of torture was invented. It's called 'death by a hundred cuts'. The executioner kills the victim with a hundred cuts to the body. He takes great care not to hit any organs so that the victim's death is as slow as possible." He said with the air of a professor lecturing a classroom.

He then leaned forward to me, making me back off. I was beyond terrified. I don't know what prevented me from begging for mercy. Maybe it was the last shred of pride I had left, maybe it's because I knew that it would be useless in the end.

"You've just experienced your first cut." He said grinning.

I screamed.

_**Watson:**_ After Valka took off, me and the rest rejoined the battle. It really was hopeless for the Berserkers and Trappers inside the fort. They were outnumbered and now we had all the dragons on our side, Valka must have already trained the remaining ones.  
>We were now practically chasing the remaining ones down. We were about to turn a corner when Holmes suddenly shouted "STOP! FALL BACK!" as hard as he could.<p>

In the next moment I heard the unmistakable sound of a Gatling machine gun. The Berkians that were unfortunate enough to be at the front got mowed down by the firing rate of two hundred bullets a minute. The Berserkers may not have been expert marksmen, but with the machine gun, you hardly need to, as it covers anything on a mile radius.  
>As a military man, I knew that all we could do was either wait for the ammo to run dry, or for the weapon to jam. Some of the dragons tried to fly over them, but they were instantly hit and were forced to land in cover before they too got killed by the machine gun.<p>

Neither dragon nor man could stay out long enough for them to get a clear shot of the machine gun.

"Haddock, get Toothless and fly within a safe distance from here! Then get close enough so that they can see you, yet far enough that they can't shoot you!" said Holmes. To my surprise, Haddock nodded and complied immediately.

I had seen that the ammo belt still had plenty of bullets and there were other boxes of ammo around. It would take a considerable amount of time for them to run out.  
>After a minute, Toothless could be seen on the skyline, but only just. The machine gun started firing again. It was clear that they never received any kind of proper training, for they fired the bursts for too long, risking to make the gun overheat and they were trying to shoot Toothless out of the sky despite the fact that there was no way that they could hit him from that distance.<p>

"We are waiting." Said Holmes calmly while lighting a pipe.

"Patiently waiting…" continued Holmes, casually puffing his pipe as if he were in his armchair rather than on a battlefield.

"For what!?" I shouted.

"Our window of opportunity!" said Holmes drawing his revolver. I did the same.

Then it hits me: Holmes went spying here last night. He must have sabotaged the gun while there. Most likely replaced one of the bullets with a fake one. A few moments later, the barrage of bullets on Toothless stopped and was replaced by harmless clicking sounds.

The next moment, me and Holmes jumped out of cover and shot down the Berserkers that were manning and guarding the gun.

Then, the Berkians charged forward, straight into the fort.  
>Eret ran forward, but he stumbled and fell, clutching his thigh. He had been shot by the Gatling gun earlier, but no one noticed because he had kept quiet about it.<p>

I hauled him over my shoulder as I did with countless other men during my time as a field medic and took him into cover, making my way through the Berkians who were charging the opposite way.

"It's nothing but a little scratch!" said Eret through gritted teeth. Really?

"Mate, I think that's more than a _little scratch_." I say looking at the oozing wound which had already caused a small pool of blood on the ground despite the fact that I had set him down for only two seconds. Without any treatment he would bleed to death, and yet he wanted to battle? Skullcrusher came to us, bowing his enormous head to his rider, sniffing his wound and then recoiling in horror.

"Watson!" came Holmes running to us. "Go, go! I'll catch up!" I say waving him off.

"Keep pressure on the wound, I'll get my medical bag." I say to Eret. But then I remember… my doctor's bag was on Cloudjumper saddle, and he went away with Valka.

"Bloody hell." I muttered.

I decided to untie my tie and use it as an improvised tourniquet on Eret's leg. It was a nice tie, sure, but his life was more important than my wardrobe.  
>Then, suddenly, Cloudjumper landed near me, my doctor's bag dangling exactly where I had left it.<p>

I gave him a grateful smile and got to work. Much to Eret's dismay, I cut off his trouser leg in order to treat his wound. Luckily, the bullet had passed cleanly through his leg without staying there, but that also meant that there was an exit wound.  
>I treated his leg quickly: on the battlefield, you couldn't waste any time, speed was paramount, therefore I was able to treat any wounds in record time.<p>

"There, that will halt the bleeding and infection for now, I'll stich it up once we are back on Berk. Now stay here!" I say as I tie disinfectant drenched bandages around his leg.

"No way, Watson! I've been worse! I'll get right in there and teach my former comrades the wrongfulness of their ways!" said Eret while trying to get up. I shoved him back in his place.

"-I don't think so. You need to rest: doctor's orders.

-No way! What makes you think I won't run away as soon as you turn around!?

-This." I say smiling, gesturing to Skullcrusher, who laid his gigantic head on his rider's thigh to keep pressure on the wound while pinning him with his mighty paw.

"What are you doing!? You can't keep me here! I need to fight!" he said futilely struggling against his gigantic dragon. I sigh and shake my head. I have had many difficult patients, but Eret had to be in the top five, maybe even top three.

"Make sure he stays there!" I say to Skullcrusher. The giant Rumplehorn nodded and curled up for a nap while on top of Eret. Whatever protests Eret had were muffled by his dragon sitting on him.  
>I then turn to Cloudjumper and notice something which I should have noticed the moment I laid eyes on him, but I was far too focused on treating Eret's wound to notice: "Where's Valka?" I ask him.<p>

He just gestures me to get on him. Clearly, she was in trouble. Cloudjumper couldn't get inside the fort due to his size and Valka went in and freed the dragons. When she didn't return, the dragon realized that something was wrong and went for help, I deduce. I get on him without a second thought, reloading my revolver on the way: something told me that I would need a full cylinder. He sets me down and I jump off instantly.

"Go help the others, Cloudjumper. I can handle myself. Besides, you can't even follow me." I say simply.

The dragon complied. I instantly noticed that the door which led into the upstairs part of that section of the fort was busted open. I go through and climb the stairs, holding my stick at the ready and being prepared to draw my revolver if things got too dangerous. Once I reached the top floor I instantly noticed another kicked open door and two unconscious guards inside the large room which had once kept dragons hostage. I could see unlocked shackles where the dragons once were. There were two unconscious guards on the ground. One of them had a swollen jaw, the other a broken nose. An axe lodged into a chair and several other upset objects confirmed that there had been a scuffle here.

"Nice work, madam." I say smiling to no one in particular as I glance around the room.

But then I notice something: A club on the ground. It was Valka's bludgeon. Why had she dropped it? Sure, she must have dropped the weapon in order to train the dragons, but why hasn't she picked it up again afterwards? I take in a deep breath and try to use Holmes' methods. I look around the room once more.  
>I notice on one of the walls… a spot of blood. Someone's head had been slammed against it. The bloodspot was at about 6 feet three inches above the ground and neither of the two guards were that tall. That was Valka's height.<br>There was another spot of blood on the floor. As an experienced doctor I am able to deduce from its consistency that it was blood mixed with saliva as it was very liquid.  
>Neither of the two guards had bled from the mouth, therefore that left Valka. I then realize that after Valka freed the dragons, she must have watched them for a while flying toward the battle to savour her victory. The blood on the wall was very close to the large trapdoor.<br>Someone grabbed her by the hair from behind and then slammed her against the wall, effectively incapacitating her. T

hen after she was knocked down, kicked her again.

I run out of the room, my heart beating faster and my breath involuntarily heavy, determined to find Haddock's mother before any harm came to her. That is if she wasn't already… I didn't want to finish that thought. I didn't want to tell Haddock, who took one life to save my own that I failed to save his mother.

Blood on the floor outside the room confirmed to me that Valka had been dragged away from there and probably occasionally kicked. As I follow the faint blood trail (sometimes there wouldn't be any spots for a good few dozen yards) I eventually step out onto a balcony or bridge of some sort.

There was only one way that she could have been taken and that was… Before I can think of anything else, two strong hands give me a hard shove from behind straight toward the balcony railing. In an instant, I put my hands firmly on the stone railing.  
>If I had acted a fraction of a second later, I'd have fallen a hundred yards into the ocean.<p>

I turn around to my opponent. He was a good few inches taller than me and very brawny, but thankfully he seemed to be unarmed. He didn't expect me to not fall, so I used this to my advantage, turning around quickly and charging him headfirst with a tackle. Despite the fact that I didn't manage to get much momentum and that he was very heavy, I was able to bring him down by ramming my head into his stomach and picking him up by the back of the knees. We both fell heavily to the ground and I take this opportunity to pin him down with my bodyweight, stun him with a chop of the hand to the neck and then punching his face over and over.  
>I'd have continued until he was unconscious if another Berserker hadn't snuck up behind me.<p>

He snaked his hand around my throat and takes me off his companion. Luckily, I managed to bring my chin down just on time, therefore he couldn't strangle me properly, but I could give him the illusion that he did. He was now dragging me toward the balcony railing. He was now trying to throw me off.

I could see the deadly ocean and the crashing waves below me. I would have panicked if this wasn't part of my plan.  
>Just before he could throw me off, I kick the railng with both of my feet, sending the both of us tumbling backwards.<p>

I look to his companion and I see that he was still recovering from the beating I had administered, he couldn't help him yet. Gathering all his strength, he throws me off him and I fall a few feet away. I try to get up on my elbows and I see him approaching me.  
>I catch his foot as he tries to kick me in the ribs and I break his ankle by twisting it with both of my hands, snapping it with a meaty crack. I simply faked weakness in order for him to attack me recklessly.<br>He yells in pain and falls on his knees.  
>I took this opportunity to knock him out with a sidekick to the temple. I didn't have time to celebrate my victory, because his companion recovered and punched me hard enough to send me toward a wall. Before I can recover, he slams himself against me, his hands around my throat.<br>His nose was broken and bruises were forming on his face due to our previous scuffle, making seeing his face so up close a rather unpleasant affair.

What he should have learned from his now unconscious friend is that trying to strangle me is a bad idea. I quickly grab both his thumbs and jerk them suddenly with an Army technique.  
>The result: both his thumbs were now broken. He yells in pain, looking down at his hands, forgetting about me completely. I then grab my stick, which was knocked away a few yards during the fight, and I go behind him.<p>

"Don't worry. Relax. I'm a doctor." Was all I said to him before I knocked him out cold.|

"Really? You're a doctor? Interesting." Came a deranged sing-song voice behind me.

When I turned around, a tallish young man, mid-twenties, perhaps, was standing about thirty feet away from me. He had a devilish smirk, and his eyes were wide with insanity. I had seen plenty of psychopaths in my life to be able to tell one on sight, and I could tell from his gaze and deliberately sing-song voice that he was more than not right in the head.

"You just interrupted me from an operation! Have you ever been interrupted from a procedure, doc? How dare you!" he yelled with a very sudden change in tone. I then notice that his helmet was rather distinguishable, therefore he was of a higher rank.

Then I realize it: this was Dagur the Deranged. He fitted the description perfectly: physically and mentally.

But… interrupted him from a procedure? What was he talking about? I then notice a bloody dagger on his waist. He wouldn't have used the dagger in combat, he would have used his sword, and that was right alongside his sidearm, clean as a whistle. Was he torturing more dragons?

"-Really, Hiccup started hiring average mercenaries from Europe? I knew that he was a pathetic runt, but…

-I am not average." I say glaring at him.

"Or a mercenary." I continue.

"ENOUGH!" he yelled suddenly, his eyes widening so much I thought they might pop out of their sockets.

"Tell me, Doctor, as a medical man, did you enjoy seeing my _procedure_ on dragons foolish enough to defy me downstairs?" he asked cheerfully. I shot him my darkest glare. That poor purple Nadder I had to put out of her misery would haunt my dreams for many months to come…

"I'll show you just how much I've enjoyed it, you bastard!" I snarl.

"I think it's time for you to get a taste of my… _operation_." He said sinisterly, drawing his dagger and kissing the blood on it. I felt my stomach churning.  
>I had met murderers, career criminals, serial killers, rapists, psychopaths, terrorists, criminal masterminds… yet none of them turned my stomach the way this sick bastard did.<br>He then whistled and then five huge Berserkers came behind him. Before they went to me to take me away, they decided to make a show of folding their arms and stroking their weapons from a distance, which was their big mistake…

"One… two… three… four… five…" I counted them aloud with a smug grin on my face. Their faces screwed up with confusion as I did this.

"Six... Six, the perfect number." I finished glaring at Dagur.

"What are you talking about?" asked the deranged chief with a confused look on his face.  
>As a response, I whipped out my revolver and began shooting his bodyguards. By running my palm over the hammer after every shot, I loaded the next bullet faster, a technique favoured by American gunslingers in the Wild West. I managed to shoot the last bodyguard before the first one even hit the ground. To my delight, Dagur screamed in terror and stumbled a few step backwards from his dead bodyguards.<br>He tried glaring at me, but his eyes were wide with shock.

"Only cowards use firearms!" he said eventually.

"Oh, really? Your men didn't seem to have a problem using them outside. And what firearms! An Abrams canon and a Gatling machine gun! Dagur, as a doctor, I am a man of science, and as a man of science, do you know what I hate the most?" I asked rhetorically, giving him my best narrow glare, which made him swallow hard. He tried to stand tall, but it was obvious that he was trembling in his boots out of fear.

"Hypocrites. And you're the biggest one I've met. You belittle me for using a revolver, when your men are using artillery canons and machine guns over there. Well _used_." I added menacingly with a grin.

"You call me a mercenary when all your men are just that. You call the dragons monsters when really, you're the only one in here. Furthermore, you use try to use these 'monsters' as weapons by being monsters yourselves." I enumerate, not moving my revolver away from him for one second.

"If you're going to kill me, then put that toy away and fight me like a man!" he said, finally taking a step toward me.  
>There were now about twenty feet between us.<p>

"Do you really think I'll give a villain like you a fair fight?" I say. He freezes, looking at my revolver terrified which was pointed at his head. I carefully aim for his helmet. Very few people could take this shot without killing the man, but I was sure of my aim, especially since he was practically frozen with fear.  
>I shot my last shot into the side of his helmet, making him scream and fall backwards and making his helmet fall into the ocean. He then felt his head as if he was confused he was still alive.<p>

"You're damn right I am." I say, holstering my empty revolver and drawing my sword from my stick. His face turned from sheer terror to glee and he started laughing like a madman.

"Biggest mistake of your life, doc!" he said cheerfully drawing his sword.

"You think? I've been doing this long before you were born, boy." I say glaring at him. It wasn't a lie. I had been a good fencer and stickfighter since childhood, even coming second in my University's fencing and boxing competition. I had also been a hand to hand combat instructor during my time as an officer in India and Afghanistan. And of course, all my adventures with Sherlock Holmes meant that there was no getting out of shape chasing after criminals. Dagur chuckled while twirling his sword.

"Alright, then! Bring it on, old man!" he snarled.

And with that, the duel commenced.

* * *

><p><span><strong><em>Author's note:<em>** _**Alright, phew! After two weeks of waking up at 5:00 AM, writer's block, studying, scrapping entire sections of the chapter, here it is!  
>Ugh, it was hard for me to write Valka's scene. If you think it was difficult reading Valka getting tortured, then WRITING the damn thing was out of this world! I seriously had to stop ocassionally and ask myself "What the hell is wrong with you?". But, to my defense, Valka suffering will make the plot move forward... I know that sounded weird, but it will!<br>How? Wait and see! ;)**_

**_Man, I just love torturing my main characters, don't I? XD_**

**_I have that in common with BeyondTheClouds777 ;)_**

**_Also, since there was so much fighting in this chapter, I have to ask: are the fight scenes any good? They are hard as hell to write._**

**_Until next time, when we see the fight between the British Clint Eastwood and the Norse Hannibal Lecter. XD Sorry, couldn't help it!  
><em>**

**_Also, shoutout to whoever guesses what classic movie the "Six... Perfect number." line is from._**


	27. Chapter 26- A Race Against Time

_**Author's note: ****Hello, everyone! Sorry this chapter is so late in its coming, 12th grade is hard as hell! I probably will only be able to update every month and a half. I know, I know, long wait, but it's really hard to write something when the longest break I have is 60 mins at most.**_

**A_lso, I have to warn that this chapter will be even more evil for Valka. Like, really evil. I had to remind myself several times while writing that she's fictional. So... yeah, it's gonna be nasty for her this chapter._**

_**Shoutout to NightsAnger for being the only one who guessed what movie the line "Six... Perfect number" is from: the legendary "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly"**. **Congrats, man, you've got your movies right! :D**_

_**So without further ado...**_

* * *

><p>Watson:<p>

Dagur looked at me smugly, as if he was certain of his victory.

I could have easily killed him, I could have just aimed for his forehead instead of his helmet, but instead I simply used my last bullet to send his helmet into the ocean.  
>Even now, there were still a good fifteen feet between us, I had enough time to load a round and shoot him where he stood. Why I didn't do this and instead decided to fight him man-to-man I can't say to this day. We were staring daggers at each other, as if one was daring the other to make the first move.<br>I took this time to analyse him. He was about my height, six feet, give or take.  
>He was lean-ish, sinewy and muscular, therefore he was very quick and relatively strong. He was younger and quicker, so I had to pay attention to any of his counterattacks. However, my superior strength and weight would come in handy should he try to tackle me or while grinding swords.<br>He still had his bloody dagger on his belt, but he was already holding his sword in a combat stance. I realized that he would only take out the dagger in an emergency as he clearly preferred only using one weapon. Still, I had to watch out for it.

Haddock had told us about Dagur, and he wasn't above using dirty moves to win. Good, in that case, I wasn't either.  
>My sword was longer, but his was clearly heavier, but due to my raw strength advantage, that was easily balanced. Another advantage was that I had the remainder of my stick in my left hand, I could use it to block or to strike him in a counterattack.<br>I saw that he no longer had a smug look, instead it was sheer determination with a little bit of fear. Maybe it was because of my glare, or maybe it was because he finally realized that since I managed to come all the way over here on my own, I made a formidable foe.  
>I had to take note of his speed, dirty tricks and insanity which I knew as a doctor that it would make him enraged. I knew that while rage amplified his strength, speed and endurance, it made him attack recklessly and easily counterable.<p>

We could hear the battle very clearly only hundreds of yards from us, the sounds of swords clashing, men groaning and screaming and dragons roaring and breathing fire was more powerful than any wartune.

And without another thought, I lunged at him with a savage snarl, sword held above my head. His eyes narrow, his teeth grit and he stands his ground. I bring my sword down over his head. He notices too late that it was only a feint and raises his own weapon to deflect a blow that would never come.

As he does this, I ram my stick into his stomach. He groans in pain and staggers backwards and I take this opportunity to try to slash his ribs.  
>He parries and we were now deflecting each other's blows, the balance of power hardly shifting to one or another.<p>

I go on the offensive, making him back off. He blocked my first three swings, but the sheer speed and coordination of my onslaught meant that he couldn't counter properly. He dodges the fourth and swings his sword above my head and I block. The sheer weight of the thing initially sent my sword back quite a few inches, but not enough to knock it out of my hand or to be able to slash me.  
>I push back against him, my raw strength advantage evening the odds. The two blades grind, a few sparks flew out of them. Little by little, I push back the two blades close to him. I was now close enough to close the gap.<p>

I use my blade's superior length to slash his shoulder while still grinding with his own. He senses this move but he was too late, he only dodges the blow partially, my blade slicing clean through his fabric and drawing blood. He groans in pain and I take this opportunity to also smack him in the face with the stick. The powerful blow makes him groan and stagger and now that he was stunned, I try to take this opportunity to try one powerful, decisive thrust.  
>To my surprise, he dodges completely and kicks my defenceless ribs.<p>

The blow knocked the wind out of me and makes me bend over in pain. Before I even have time to recover he grabs me by the throat and headbutts me. I fall on my back with a splitting pain in my ribs and my head feeling like a horse had just trampled it.  
>I bury the pain and I get up groaning, fully expecting Dagur to continue his attack. To my surprise, Dagur was standing just six feet away with a gun in his hand. <em>My <em>gun.

He must have managed to snatch it from my holster while he was holding me by the throat. He was grinning victoriously.

"I thought you said you said only cowards use firearms." I said dryly.

He pulls the trigger, the only result being a harmless clicking sound. I would never forget how stupid he was. Had he really forgotten that I had emptied my gun into his bodyguards and into his helmet?

"You idiot. If that gun still had a bullet in it, you'd be dead right now." I said lowly, glaring at him. He glances at the revolver and after another second of hesitation, he throws it at me. I catch my empty pistol by the barrel and I hurl it at him myself.  
>This time, the butt of the pistol connects with his forehead with a loud smack and he falls flat.<p>

I rush to him as he was trying to grab the gun. I snatch the revolver before he does and I pistol whip him in the jaw.  
>He falls once again and I put my pistol back in my holster, this time making sure that it was secure.<br>He gets up groaning and I stay in a combat stance, waiting for him to make the first move. He now looked _furious_. He was breathing heavily, his face was red, and his eyes were practically narrowed into slits. Still, I don't let this intimidate me. He lets out a feral roar which would have put a dragon to shame and charges toward me.

I block his first few blows, but only just. Bloody hell, he was fast!  
>His slashes were also more powerful than last time. The sheer weight of his blade was now coming at a significant advantage, as he was pushing my sword back, but not enough for it to reach me.<p>

"I WILL NOT LOSE TO A DRAGON-LOVER!" he screeched savagely.

He slammed his sword against my own with much more strength than he had previously, which caused me to stagger. Not even a second had passed that I felt an enormous pain exploding in my shin.  
>Worse still, exactly in the old war wound on my shin. He had managed to kick my old war wound. Hard.<p>

I fall on one knee, barely able to contain the feral scream of agony. Now his speed and rage had the upper hand over my strength and experience. As soon as I fall on one knee, he kicks me in the face with force.

For one moment, my world was nothing but blackness and the sound of ringing. _ 'Get up. Get up, or you will die'_ A voice in my head said.

I open my eyes and see through the haze. He approached me slowly, taking all the sweet time in the world, his face and his right shoulder were bloody, but he didn't seem to care. He was smiling… like a deranged lunatic, for the lack of a better explanation, his nickname receiving its worth. I knew that if I got up now, it would be too painful and that I wouldn't be able to get up before he could kill me.  
>Instead, I pretended to be unconscious, keeping my eyes open with only a slit to see through, so that he didn't see that I was awake. He stops in front of me and started laughing like a madman.<p>

"Your mercenaries are as pathetic as you are, brother!" he yelled victoriously to no one in particular as he raised his sword over me. Just before he brought it down, I roll out of the way, and his sword scratches the stone.  
>I then kick him in the back of the knee, making him fall and I get up, grabbing him by the hair and sending a powerful right hook into his face. The blow makes him fall on his back, but he still didn't let go of his sword.<p>

"Cheap-shot bastard! Can't fight like a man, eh? Got to use dirty tricks!" he taunted while getting up.

"Says the man who kicked me in the shin and stole my gun." I responded dryly.

At this insult, he charged forward and clashed his sword with my own in sheer fury. I tried clashing with him, but getting kicked into my war wound had taken its toll. My footwork was severely affected and I was practically limping.  
>I couldn't keep him at bay well enough. Suddenly, as we were grinding our swords together, he pushes with all his weight through, forcing me to lose my balance as I didn't expect it and I was worn down.<br>He then draws his already bloody dagger and swings it at my chest. I try to dodge out of the way, but he still managed to slash my left bicep.

I barely contained my yell of pain as white hot agony exploded in my arm, but I couldn't contain the load "GAH!" He steps backwards chuckling morbidly.

The blade had sliced clean through my jacket and shirt. It was not very deep, but it was long and it was already bleeding profusely. But this wasn't the only thing that I noticed. He had ruined my suit...

This was the final straw… _No one_ ruins one of my suits without suffering the consequences!

He stops chuckling the moment I glare at him, teeth gritted. I charge at him, fully bent on tackling him. He seems mortified by my sudden comeback, even I was surprised as the gash on my arm and my throbbing war wound turned to little more than dull aches.  
>After a moment, he charges himself, determined to counter my tackle.<p>

However, I was stronger and heavier, and once again my days as a rugby player had saved my life. I slam my head into his stomach and I, quite literally, picked him up by legs over my shoulder and in the next second threw him into some barrels.  
>The barrels shatter, covering him in beer and wine.<br>He moans and groans and raises his dagger to throw it at me.  
>But he was stunned, he couldn't do it before I kicked it out of his hand straight over the railing and into the ocean. He then grabs one of the boards of the shattered barrels and slams it into my ribs before I can react.<br>Even in his beaten state, he was unbelievably quick. Stabbing pain emerged from my ribs, but thankfully the board snapped. He then picked up his sword and we began clashing once again.  
>This time, since I had my stick in the other hand and he hit the barrel headfirst, I was at a significant advantage. His reflexes were telegraphed and he was clearly worn down.<p>

I slam my sword into his own, leaving him exposed. He tries to take a swing at me with his free arm, but I dodge and slash his swordarm. He yells in pain like feral. All it took was for me to hit his wound with my stick and he dropped the sword and fell to his knees, clutching his slashed forearm and shoulder.

It was over… I sheathed my sword into my stick and leaned against it while wiping my brow and giving my wounds a quick mental check.  
>My ribs ached, but they weren't broken. I have had my ribs broken before, and I knew that I wouldn't have even been able to get up had they been truly broken. The few bruises on my face and my broken nose were just sore, nothing to worry about. My biggest injuries were the fact that the war wound on my ankle would have to be nursed and the slash in my bicep was bleeding so profusely, that it would definitely have to be stitched as I could actually feel hot blood oozing out of it and staining my suit.<p>

I pick Dagur up by the collar and knee him in the stomach while leading him to a doorway. I kicked it open and it was revealed to be a flight of stairs leading downwards into the fort. He glanced at the stairs and he became as white as a sheet.

"Oh no." he said horrified.

"Oh, yes." I responded smiling morbidly.

With that, I threw a fist in his jaw and he went rolling down the flight of stairs, groaning in pain at every ladder.

_**Haddock:**_ I parried with a Berserker soldier's axe and instantly dodged his second blow.  
>I slash his ribs, not enough to kill him, but more than enough to put him out of action and for the fire from Inferno to make his pain too much for him to continue.<br>After the feral scream of pain, he dropped his axe and fell on his knees. I then knocked him out with a prosthetic kick to the side of the head.  
>Holmes was fencing off two Trappers at once.<p>

He dodged under one's hammer and elbowed the other in the liver. The hammer wielder dropped his oversized weapon, figuring out that it would be useless against someone lean and speedy like Holmes and drew a shortsword.  
>Holmes dodged all of the quick blows with expertise and finally blocked an overhead blow by catching the hilt of the sword and swept his opponent's legs, disarming him in the process.<br>The other Trapper recovered and swung a mace at Holmes, but the detective clicked his Inferno replica and blocked the blow. The large man was now trying to fence off Holmes, but Holmes' firesword was much faster than the oversized mace and then the detective slashed his opponent's thigh in a window of opportunity, the fire increasing the pain tenfold, making the Trapper drop his weapon and fall on one knee.  
>A roundhouse heel kick to the temple put him out of action for good.<p>

"COME ON, YOU SONS OF HALF-TROLLS!" I heard Astrid yell as she furiously swung her axe at a group of Berserkers who were trying (and failing) to fight off my wife's fury.  
>I frown. Sure, Astrid had always been relatively short of temper, but now she looked more than furious. There was murder in her eyes. This was more than her usual fighting spirit.<br>After just a few moments, three of the four Berserkers that were attacking Astrid had fled or were knocked out or terribly injured.

In an instant, Astrid knocked the last Berserker down with a powerful kick to his chest.  
>She then pinned him and raised her axe over his head.<p>

"NO! PLEASE, DON'T!" pleaded the Berserker as my wife was about to brain him. But Astrid was having none of it. Her gaze could have melted stone. She raised her axe even more.  
>She was going to kill him.<p>

A Berserker who looked like he was no more than… Hel, he looked like a kid! No more than sixteen!

I shove the flat of her axe just as she swung it and the youngster's head and he released a piercing screech of terror. Her axe sunk itself into stone only inches from the boy's head, thanks to my shove.

"Astrid! Look at him!" I say. In a moment she got off him, her eyes still full of hate. But then, she blinked at the boy and gasped in shock as she realised what she was about to do.

"Please, please, don't… I have a mother, my father died, my mother won't survive without me…" The young man pleaded through tears.

"Astrid… What's wrong with you?" I demand, forcing her to look at the once proud boy who was now begging and sobbing, he probably didn't even realise that Astrid got off him.

"I… Hiccup, I…. I didn't realise… I was so angry…" She said softly while looking down at her own shaking hands.

"Why were you so angry, Astrid? For Thor's sake, you were about to kill a teen!" I yell. I had never yelled at my wife before, yet words came out on their own.

"That Nadder… The one that Dr. Watson had to put out of her misery…" her voice trailed off.

"She… didn't she remind you of Stormfly?" She asked, sniffing back tears.

Ah. Yes, of course. Seeing those dragons had made me furious with these savages as well.  
>In fact, that was pretty much why I killed the Berserker who tried to shoot Watson instead of shooting him in the leg. I regretted that decision immediately. I had taken a second life for no good reason…<p>

"Come on, we've still got a good section of the fort to clear out." I say. We got out of the section of the fort into the open.

The door was too small for any dragons to enter, so we simply cleared them out one my one. We were winning.

Berkians were storming all the sections of the fort, and now all the dragons were on our side. There was no way the Trappers and Berserkers would recover. I knew that Mom was the one who went to train all the dragons upstairs, thus ensuring our victory.

I just hoped that she was fine…

"Over here!" said Fishlegs pointing to a door. There were still enemies there. We all rushed there, taking positions by the door. Holmes put his ear to the door.

"Only two of them. Standing by the door. They were simply waiting for someone to kick the door in so that they could stab them immediately as they did so." Deduced Holmes.

Phew, it sure was a good thing that Holmes was deducing what was behind every door before we opened them, otherwise who knows what might have happened. Astrid would have kicked the door down and then the two savages would have… I didn't want to finish that thought.

"Leave them to me." Said Holmes simply. With that, he kicked the door down. As he said, there were two men by the door. One of them swung an axe at Holmes' face, the other, a lean young man, was brandishing a dagger. Holmes ducked under the axe and kicked the other man in the back of the knee, bringing him down. Holmes then drew his Inferno replica (which was not turned on) and rammed the hilt into the axeman's liver.  
>The large Berserker grunted and tried to take another swing at Holmes. The detective caught his hands and threw the Berserker over his shoulder and straight into a table, knocking him out.<br>The man with the dagger got up and began fencing with Holmes. The detective's version of Inferno didn't burn as much as my own, as he was using gasoline instead of Monstrous Nightmare saliva, but that hardly mattered as it was only a matter of seconds before Holmes knocked the dagger out his hands and put him out of action with a kick to the ribs and one to the temple as he bent over.

Holmes took care of them so quickly, that we didn't even get the chance to intervene. Toothless got into the room as well, as the door was quite large, but he signalled the other dragons to stay outside and continue driving away Berserkers and Trappers.

Holmes, Astrid, Fishlegs, Toothless and myself looked around the room. There were two other doors. I immediately deduced from their size and design that one led upstairs, deeper into the fort, while the other led to a small room.  
>That small room could be anything from a mess hall to an armoury or even an office of sorts which had useful information. Therefore, I decided to investigate the small room before we went upstairs.<p>

I had a vague feeling of… desperation as I sat into the room, as if something had happened here and that I would find it. As I approached the door, I was met with a faint, yet very disturbing smell.

Blood. Human blood. What was inside that room?

After another second of hesitation, I put my hand on the knob. But before I could turn it, we all heard something which sounded like someone falling down some stairs. As it drew nearer, we could hear someone's grunts as they kept on hitting every step. Eventually, there was a loud crash as he (by now I had identified the grunts as unmistakably male) hit the bottom.

"No, no, no! Please don't-!" I heard someone plead. The voice sounded familiar…

Before I could identify the voice, Dagur the Deranged burst through the door which led up the stairs, bloody and battered, and fell face first on the wooden floor. Watson was inside, his knee brought up to his chest. I realized he had kicked Dagur after falling down. Hard.  
>Watson was quite battered himself. He was sporting a few bruises on his face, he was bending over where his war wound was and his left arm was slashed and his suit was dirty, torn and bloody. It was a good thing that it was one of his cheaper traveling suits.<p>

"Stop… I give up…" Dagur rasped oblivious to our presence as he coughed blood on the floor _and a tooth._

"Shut up. Shut up, and take your beating like a man!" snarled Watson savagely as he picked Dagur back up and threw him up against a wall. It was then that he noticed our presence.

"Oh, hey there. What did I miss?" asked Watson casually as he straightened his collar, which considering that it was ripped and bloody, was a rather pointless move.

"Ah, Dagur the Deranged, I presume." Said Holmes casually. Dagur looked up at Holmes with hatred.

"Another European mercenary? Really, brother, I was right, you're so un-Viking like that you won't even hire your own people to fight for you." Said Dagur smugly as he looked up at me.

"I can assure you that I am not a mercenary." Said Holmes as he lit a pipe and blew smoke into Dagur's face.

"Good job, Watson. I have deduced that Dagur's own combat skills are nothing to joke about, yet you took him down with remarkable ease. Well done, old boy." Said Holmes to his friend.

"Should treat that soon, though." Said Holmes pointing to Watson's arm wound.

"I've been worse. He doesn't even know how to properly take advantage of a counterattack." Said Watson casually.

"Oh, shut up! You got lucky!" said Dagur as coldly as he could as he coughed again and tried (and failed) to get up. But then, Dagur's face lit up with realisation.

"Wait a minute… did you call him Watson? You two are… Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson?" asked Dagur with bewilderment as he got up on his knees.

"You two… are now working for this… these… traitors to their own species? Drago offered you a job, you ungrateful yaks!" yelled Dagur as he got up to glare at Holmes.

"I would much rather work for a man whose life is dedicated to preserving life rather than one who takes pleasure in finding the most repulsive ways to dispose of life, even if said life are those dragons." Said Holmes. Even though his voice was as deliberate and stoic as ever, I could sense an undertone of disgust in it as he said this glaring at Dagur.

"Actually, _especially _if they are dragons." Finished Holmes looking at Toothless, and I swear I saw a small smile on his lips as he looked at my dragon.

"Oh, hey brother, how's your Daddy?" asked Dagur smiling. As soon as he said this, I felt my jaw twitch with anger as he mentioned my father. You bastard…

"Wait just a minute, Holmes." I say to the detective casually as I strode over to Dagur.

"Hah! The fishbone is trying to be intimidating! What are you gonna-?" he was cut off by me sending a powerful left jab into his stomach which made him grunt wildly and fall to his knees.

"Sorry, Holmes. I've been wanting to do that a _long time_. A _damn long time!_" I say grabbing Dagur by the collar as he tried glaring at me.

"Ah, the beast." Said Dagur as he looked smugly at Toothless. My dragon, in return, stared daggers at him while baring his teeth.

"Tell me, brother, did you finally realise that dragons were beasts when that scaly bastard turned on you and killed your father?" asked Dagur as he went near me. I balled my fist as he said this, and I saw that Toothless was now looking at the ground in shame as he was once again reminded of what he was forced to do.

"Or when you saw that your own mother abandoned you for _beasts_." He continued.

"Keep calm. Don't hit him, you need him, he has vital information on Drago and Moriarty."

I said to myself. Yeah… too bad that wasn't easy. My fingernails were deep in my flesh and my breathing was heavy as he was tarnishing the names of those I cared the most.

"But I do have to say, Stoick the Vast had to be a real imbecile. I mean, sacrificing himself for a fishbone like you? And making peace with the dragons in the first place? What a sorry excuse for a chief… Just like you! You are-" Dagur was cut off by me grabbing him by the collar and slamming him in the wall.

My anger had reached its peak. How dare he talk like that about my father? I would make him pay…  
>I kicked him with my prosthesis in the kneecap, shattering his bone. He yelled in pain, but I then grabbed his hair and bashed his head into the stone wall a couple of times. I was roaring like an animal and I was gritting my teeth so tightly, I thought they might shatter, but I couldn't help it.<br>Everything that he had done to me and Berk was coming back into my head, every bit of it fusing my anger.

I grabbed his throat tightly. I had never strangled someone in my life, but judging by how he was gurgling and futilely trying to claw at my hand, I was doing a pretty decent job. Normally, Dagur would have probably been able to fight back pretty well, but after getting beaten up by Watson and my raging fury, he was useless.  
>As I held his throat against the brick wall, I drew my gun with my free hand. He gasps as I level the short barrel to his forehead. He now looked <em>terrified<em>. I had never seen Dagur the Deranged terrified. Surprised or slightly scared, sure, but now he looked close to begging.

I had a decent mind to shoot him where he stood. It would be so easy, just pull a trigger, and I would never have to hear him talk about my loved ones ever again.  
>But… hadn't I already killed enough? I had taken two lives, both of which could have been avoided. I could have reasoned with Maul and I could have saved Watson by just shooting the crossbow wielding Berserker in the leg.<br>No. I was better than that. But that didn't mean that I wouldn't give him a good scare. I cocked the gun, the clicking echoing through the small room. Fishlegs yelped as he heard the click and approached.

"Hey uh… Chief, can you uh… back it off a notch?" he asked in his usual nervous tone.

"Lad, there's a time to talk, and a time to shut up; now's the time to shut up." Said Watson as he stopped Fishlegs from going toward me.

I was grateful for that, for, if Fishlegs had pulled me away from Dagur, I would have probably clobbered him. I glared at Dagur and pushed the gun against his forehead so hard that I'm sure it caused him pain.

"Stoick the Vast was the greatest Chief in the Archipelago. He made peace with dragons and brought his village into a new age of peace and prosperity.  
>My mother saved lives of dragons and men alike and only left us because back then my father was brainwashed by bastards like you into thinking that dragons are monsters.<br>Toothless was my first friend, he is the Alpha, he defeated a Bewilderbeast and did more for his and my kin than anyone else ever could. The dirt beneath their feet is a hundred times worthier than you." I snarled. I was surprised at the sheer savagery and coldness in my voice. But I wasn't done.

"You say one more thing about _any of them _and I will decorate that wall with the _insides of your head_." Though my voice was little more than a whisper, it was heard by everyone in the room and I heard Astrid gasp ever so slightly as I said this. She had never heard me talk like this to _anyone_…  
>Truth be told, I was a little shocked with myself. I let go of Dagur's throat and he slumps to the ground, coughing and croaking. I turn around to face my companions.<br>Astrid's eyes were widened and her mouth was ajar. I could tell that she hadn't expected me to act like this.  
>Heck, I was surprised with myself. I did the first thing that came to my mind, which wasn't what I usually did: when I thought about beating Dagur, I didn't hesitate.<p>

Though I wasn't sorry. Not even close.

Fishlegs looked terrified, but that was his usual state.  
>Holmes' face was completely unreadable, he was now sitting in a chair, puffing his pipe.<br>Watson was leaning against a wall, arms folded to his chest. Though his face was just as neutral as Holmes, I could see that he was actually satisfied with me beating up and threatening this deranged madman.

The battle outside was as good as finished. My mother had trained and freed all of the enslaved dragons in this accursed fort, and after they turned on their 'masters' and joined us, the Trappers and Berserkers were overwhelmed.  
>Besides, if Mom hadn't trained those dragons, we would have had to kill them, and no dragon deserved that, especially one who had been tortured and forced to do horrible things for madmen. They deserved freedom, and my mother offered it to them.<p>

Wait a minute… Mom…

"Has anyone seen Valka?" asked Watson, remembering about my mother just before I did.

He had first gone deeper into the fort with the intention of finding my mother, but fighting off Dagur and other Berserkers had distracted him. Before anyone could respond, Dagur started to laugh.

My heart froze and it took all of my self-control not to gasp. If the madman was laughing at _that _question, then it could only mean…

"You know, doc, thank you for knocking me into this room. Really, saves the time of you searching for the dumb broad across my magnificent fort." He said laughing as much as his bruised throat would allow him.

My heart was hammering in my throat and every single one of my instincts told me to grab him by the throat once again and demand him to say what he did to my mother.  
>But I was frozen. I was simply too shocked to even move or speak.<br>Holmes set his pipe on the table and got up. His expression was very grave, indeed.

He looked at Dagur, deducing him in his lightning fast way. As he did this, I swear I saw Holmes' jaw twitch, and for only a moment, there was pure shock on his usually completely stoic face. He then looked at the door which I had wanted to open before Watson beat Dagur all the way over here. I remembered smelling blood from over there. No…

No, no, no, no, no, no…

"Dr. Watson, I'll want you to tell me as a medical man what your opinion on what I did is." Said Dagur, grinning widely, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction and evil.

I felt faint. No, he couldn't have…

I only knew my mother for less than a year, yet I already couldn't imagine a world without her. I would have probably fainted if Holmes hadn't grabbed my wrist and held it tightly as he dragged me toward the door. I was now only a foot away from the door.  
>I could almost hear my mother's screams. I now saw that there were faint blood marks on the ground, as if someone had been dragged here.<br>I could imagine my mother freeing the dragons and then Dagur, enraged that his precious 'merchandise' has been freed, attacks her from behind and then drags her limp, almost unconscious body here… Dagur was chuckling like a madman. Holmes put his hand on the doorknob.

"Haddock…" he said, forcing me to look at him. His face was… well, it's difficult to explain. His eyes had sheer determination, as if to man me up for what was to come, yet they also had regret and apology written all over them. His voice was like a snarl of anger and a whisper of soothing simultaneously.

"Prepare yourself…" He said gravely as he squeezed my wrist so tightly I was sure he would bruise it. With that, he opened the door.

Nothing in this world could have prepared me for what I saw. My mother was handcuffed to an iron chair, her head hanging limply forward. Her body was covered in slashes from a dagger, all of the countless cuts bleeding so much that a small pool of blood had formed at the bottom of the iron chair.

For a moment I was completely frozen stiff, refusing to believe my eyes. It couldn't be…

My mother was dead… tortured to death by Dagur the Deranged.

I closed my eyes and opened them again, half-hoping to wake up from whatever horrible nightmare I was in.

No, no, surely fate couldn't be this cruel, ridding me of both parents, both of them dying because of me.  
>For the first twenty years of my life, I didn't know what a mother's love meant. To experience it now, in adulthood was… it couldn't be explained. I wanted her to stay with me, to love her grandchildren, to help me chief Berk...<br>Before I knew it, Watson had rushed into the room to check on her. It was only then that it had set in.

"MOM!" I screeched, running into the small room. I grabbed Watson from the back and threw him out of the room. It was stupid, he was a doctor, an army doctor no less, he was the best bet of saving my mother, but I didn't think about that then. Watson fell out of the room, on his back.  
>When the bloody Hel did I get so strong? Watson was more than twice my bulk, yet I threw him out effortlessly.<p>

"MOM! PLEASE! DON'T DO THIS TO ME! DON'T YOU LEAVE ME! NO! I'M SORRY!" I sobbed.

Her wounds were so numerous, that I didn't even know which to put pressure on first. Her eyes were closed, her face was bruised from being kicked and punched, her right hand was completely deformed and crushed. And her body and arms… They had been slashed so many times that…  
>I recognized this technique. The infamous 'Death by a Hundred Cuts.' Invented by Chinese Imperials, the victim was cut one hundred times, the death being slow and excruciating.<br>I put my ear to her bloody chest. Dagur was laughing, but I would take care of him later, and when I would, he would regret ever being born…

The silence of my mother's heart was louder than Dagur laughing or my companions calling for a healer and Watson rushing for his medical bag.

My mother was dead…

My mother was dead…

"No… please come back…" I begged pathetically. If I had screamed earlier, now I was barely whispering.

"See, brother?! You never could kill me! You're too much of a weakling, a coward, a fishbone, a failure to your whole entire tribe! You're not going to kill me, so what are going to do now!?" demanded Dagur laughing. He stopped laughing the moment I looked up at him.

He now looked _terrified_. Because my eyes, tear filled as they were, were pure murder. I recalled what Watson had told me about 'seeing it in my eyes' when he taught me how to intimidate someone. _"It's a biological reaction. When the human brain has the intent to kill, the eyes narrow instantly. The teeth grit, the breath heavy. You look more animal than man in that moment. When another human being sees this glare, it goes into 'fight or flight', in other words, panic." _Watson's lecture echoed into my ears. How right the wise doctor was…

"Do you know what I'm going to do, _brother_?" I asked. I was surprised at just how my voice sounded. It was a vicious snarl, yet a harsh whisper at the same time. I put my hand on my gun, but retracted it in the next second.  
>No, this monster wasn't worth wasting a bullet.<br>Besides, it would be far more satisfying doing it up close and personal…

I clicked Inferno and charged toward him. He picks up a chair to defend himself, but my blade slashes it clean in half. Gronckle Iron mixed with Monstrous Nightmare saliva made it an amazing cutting tool.

After disarming him, I plunged the infernal blade all the way up the hilt into his chest. He tried to scream, but the sword must have pierced his lung.

"_This_ is what I'm going to do." I snarled, glaring into his bloodshot, half dead eyes. I retracted the blade. Unlike when I killed Maul when the fire cauterized the wound, a small amount of blood had gushed out of the wound from the sheer savagery of my blow.

Upon retracting the blade, Dagur collapsed lifeless to the ground. Unlike when I killed Maul or the Berserker that tried to kill Watson, I couldn't bring myself to feel one ounce of guilt for this bastard.

He had tortured my mother to death…

I had a good mind to stomp on his skull with my prosthetic until there was nothing left but a squishy red paste mixed with small chunks of bone, and I would have probably gone along with it if Astrid hadn't taken me by the shoulders and let my cry into her shirt. She was crying, too, her sky blue eyes brimming with tears.

My mother was dead… I was an orphan…

I should have gone after her… I shouldn't have let her done this… She sacrificed herself to ensure our victory.  
>To ensure that no Berkian or dragon would die in this clash.<p>

To her, even the dragons enslaved by Drago were worth more than her life.

Was fate really this cruel? To show me my mother, to have her live with me for less than a year after a twenty year absence only to find out that I'll never have her?

That she'll never get to see Berk teach all of the Archipelago about the wonders of life with dragons?

That the only things that my children and her grandchildren will know of her will be stories?

This couldn't be real. I had once read while I was in London a study which said that you cannot feel pain while you're in a dream. Not physical, anyway. My heart was completely frozen, my head felt like it had been slammed with a sledgehammer. This was pain.

The last glimmer of hope that I wouldn't be orphaned disappeared.

"Haddock..." I heard Watson say. I couldn't understand what the tone of his voice was. The world around me was faded, all I knew was that Astrid was hugging me and that we were soaking each other's shoulders with our tears.  
>She had lost her mother-in-law. I had lost my mother. Berk had lost its second in command. The dragons lost the woman who had done more for them than anyone else ever could.<p>

Cloudjumper had lost…

Oh, no… Cloudjumper… what would he do without my mother? He would blame himself for her painful, short death, of that I was sure.

What would he do? What would his life be?

It was my fault… I shouldn't have let her come here in the first place. What have I done?

I killed both of my parents. They both died because of my stupidity and incompetence.

"Haddock!" repeated Watson, only that this time, his tone was demanding. But he could have said anything, no words in this world could have made me tear away from Astrid, now the only woman left in my life.

No words would make me move.

"She's alive! She's still breathing!" said the doctor. Except for those.

For a moment, I couldn't register anything. Then, it was as if Watson had injected me with ten shots of adrenaline.

I tore away from Astrid and ran to the room. Watson was using his stick as a crowbar to break the cuffs and I joined in, cutting the other binds with Inferno.

My mother was alive. My joy could not be described in words, but also concern and horror.

How many times had Dagur cut her before she went unconscious? Thinking about that made me sick.

Watson had said that she was alive, but I wanted to make sure. I put my hand beneath her nose. I felt it.  
>The soft, almost non-existent warm breath of my mother. As soon as the cuffs were off, the doctor cut off her shirt in order to treat the wounds on her torso.<p>

We would have to treat her fully on Berk, there were no conditions here to treat her, not with the amount of blood she lost. He applied disinfectant to her wounds. Even though she was out cold, she yelped and groaned and I held her hand, although she didn't return the squeeze.  
>If she had been awake, her screams would have been enough to make us deaf.<p>

"Her fever's already kicked in." said Watson with concern.

"We have to treat her fully back on Berk. I don't have enough time, equipment or conditions to sew her wounds here." He said throwing Mom over his shoulder.

"I'll stay here. I need to look around for evidence. This fortress has to have something on Drago and Moriarty's network. Leave me a dragon and I'll catch up." Said Holmes.

I nodded and went after Watson. I noticed that Watson was gritting his teeth and shifted his left arm slightly.

I frowned. The doctor took care of my mother's wounds, but left his own unattended. He was limping and his left arm was bleeding. Cloudjumper screeched as he saw my mother and began sniffing her desperately.

"Back on your dragons, Berkians! We're getting back on Berk, double time!" I yelled. They all let cried in victory, but I didn't feel like I had won. Not by a long shot. Watson put her on Cloudjumper's saddle and tied her securely. We had to get back to Berk quickly, if her wounds were left unsewn and she wasn't in a bed with medicine in her veins… I didn't want to finish that thought.

"Fly like you've never flown before, Cloudjumper! We're in a race against time!" said Watson to Mom's dragon just before he took off.

"Please… don't take her away from me too…" I pleaded tearfully to no one in particularly as I mounted Toothless.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Riiiiiiight... Please don't kill me guys.<em>**

**_Please. *backs against wall from angry mob with pitchforks and torches*_**  
><strong><em>Mainly because if you kill me, you won't know whether Valka lives or dies. MWAHAHAHAHAHA! Sorry about that, really, I feel like a jerk for writing this, but it's important for the plot.<em>**

**_Also, I have to ask, since I never wrote such angsty scenes, did I do a good job with it?_**

**_Also, Watson vs. Dagur was the longest fight scene I've ever written. Over 2000 words. It also was the fight scene I've put most effort in, so did I do a good job with it?_**

**_See you, guys! Now I'll just figure out which character I'll torture next, literally or figuratively and wheter I'll kill Valka or not._**

**_Nah, just kidding, I'm not that much of a cold-hearted bastard._**

**_Or am I? *evil/mysterious face*_**


	28. Chapter 27- I'll Swim and Sail

_**Author's note: ****Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long, 12th grade is hard and taking up all of my time. I will probably post again during Winter Break.****  
>This is going to be a sad chapter (or at least, I tried to make it so), so be ready!<strong>_

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Haddock:<strong>_ I gulped down another glass of whiskey.

The bottle wasn't mine, I had taken it from Watson's room, he wouldn't mind, I was sure of that.  
>Several hours had passed since we returned on Berk. How many, I hadn't counted. I could do nothing.<p>

I first coordinated all of the healers to the treatment of the injured, making sure there were enough beds and supplies for everyone, but then Gobber and Astrid told me to go back to the Chief's house where Watson was treating Mother, as I couldn't concentrate much knowing what my mother was going through.  
>Holmes was still looking for clues in the fort, he was probably going to return on dragonback in the evening.<p>

I could occasionally hear the faint sound of metal against metal, suggesting that the Doctor was selecting another tool from his bag.

I tried not to think too much of what those surgery tools were or what exactly he was going to do with them…

I tried to fall asleep a couple of times, but every time I closed my eyes I could see my mother tied down to that damned chair, cuts all over her body, looking as if she was dead…  
>I let a sob escape my throat and I drown it with another glass of whiskey.<br>I took note of just how light the bottle felt. I looked at it and there was only about half left. Hadn't it been full just a minute ago? Ah, to Hel with it! I took the entire bottle to my lips and pointed it at the roof. I had to stop because of the sheer scorching burning effect it had on my throat that almost made me fall out of my chair. What was I thinking?

I replayed the battle in my head once again.

_Gobber and Spitelout come rushing inside the fort, urging me to bring Toothless outside as the Trappers and Berserkers had released their dragons and they were now attacking the Berkians. I didn't want any dragons to die at the hands of Berkians. We were six years past that._

_I got on Toothless and he roared to the feral dragons, making them turn toward him. Some of them obeyed and sent their fire no longer on the Berkians who were sheathing their weapons and trying to fight them off with sticks and clubs so as not to kill them, but toward their torturers and former "masters". However, Night Furies weren't the Alpha species, so others continued their attack on Berkians, not listening to Toothless._

_My dragon couldn't take his attention from one group of dragons to another, because then he would lose the previous group without direct possession of it. These couldn't be all of their dragons, there had to be others, and when they were released, we'd have no choice other than to kill them or to retreat._

_I didn't know what to do. I was at a loss. We had come too far to back down now, yet we couldn't kill dragons either._

_It was then that I noticed Cloudjumper gliding upwards, to the top of the fort with Mother on his back. Mom had deduced where the dragons were and she would free them and they would join us, and with them, any other dragon who wasn't listening to Toothless. In the next minute, armoured dragons glided downwards from one of the higher towers.  
>But instead of attacking the Berkians and their dragons, they roared to the other enslaved dragons and then, they were all on our side.<br>Yes! My mother had done it!_

_She would return atop Cloudjumper any minute…_

There it was. My fatal mistake.

I should have went up to her the moment I saw that she was nowhere to be found.

I left my mother. She had nearly died because of me, if she wasn't already dead… No.

I shake my head to stop that thought. She would live. She _had to._ Because I couldn't begin to imagine a world in which my mother, who returned into my life less than a year ago, was dead… When she freed the dragons, ensuring our victory, I gave her _nothing._ Not even making sure that she was alright…  
>Heck, <em>Watson<em>, a man who barely knew my mother, went after her when he saw that she was nowhere to be seen, and I didn't! What kind of son was I? I rub my eyes and down another glass in a vain effort to stop the tears.

I didn't care that we had just destroyed the Trappers' and Berserkers' main fort.

I didn't care that Dagur was dead at my hands.

I didn't care that Moriarty and Drago were out there, every second that ticked by being a second in their advantage.

All I cared about was that my mother had been tortured by Dagur The Deranged because of me, and if she wasn't going to die, then she would have one of the most dreadful memories that a woman could have which would haunt her for all of her life…

I considered for a moment to get into her room, where Watson was treating her. After all, that was probably my last chance at ever seeing her alive. But, the thought of seeing the doctor sewing her wounds, cutting her hand open so that he could put her bones back into the right position… I didn't think that I would be able to do that. I was a coward.

Just as I was thinking of pouring another glass, Astrid appeared next to me. When had she shown up? Wasn't she busy treating the injured and coordinating the healers, something that _I should have been doing in the first place?_ Was this some alcohol-induced hallucination?

"Hiccup" she spoke. I put my hand on her waist. Moving my hand felt like I had a boulder tied to my wrist. I felt the warm furs of her tunic, her toned abdomen and the gentle swell of her waist as she breathed. This was too real to be a hallucination.

"Hiccup." She tried again, putting her hands around my head in a soft embrace, kissing my forehead, either to comfort me, or to get a response out of me. Now that I think about it, must have been both.  
>Seeing the gauze coming out of her pocket and the tiredness in her eyes reminded me…<p>

"My people have been injured after a gruelling battle, supplies need to be distributed, and the healers coordinated, and what do I, as Chief, do? I get piss-ass drunk and cry over my own incompetence to save my own mother." I say.

Had my voice always sounded so slurred? Had the world always been so blurry? Had my throat always burned so much?

She shook her head and squeezed my wrist.

"No, Hiccup, don't do this to yourself. You did that for a while, and you did it amazingly. No one could have coordinated the aftermath of a battle better. But you were about to faint  
>. Heck, I was the one who sent you home, remember?" she asked with a slight smile in an effort to brighten up the mood.<p>

"No!" I repeat, shaking my head.

"I… It's my fault my mother is now inbetween life and death! How can _anyone_ think that I'm capable to be a Chief when I can't take care of my own mother?! I… it's my fault… just like it's my fault that my father died." I say in a broken voice.

Mentioning my father had opened the floodgates and tears were now flowing freely as I was struggling to keep myself from sobbing.

"Hiccup, you couldn't know that your mother was up there. She didn't say it to anyone. And even when you saw Cloudjumper going to the top of the fort, you had to lead your people. You had to fight.  
>You <em>had <em>to be Chief!" she said gripping my shoulders.

Try as I might to keep my tears at bay, I was failing miserably. But once again, Astrid was by my side, and having my wife near me now in such a moment was… it couldn't be described in words.  
>For just a few moments, the pain of my mother suffering was fading away.<br>It then hit me that Astrid had come here while she was still tending to the injured. She knew that I needed her. She didn't anyone to tell her.

She knew when to come to me. Always. She was my saving grace, my Valkerye, my… everything.

"I love you." I whisper, stating the obvious, I was too drunk to say anything more romantic.

And with that, without my consent, I began crying into her red shirt. I noticed that she had been crying too, she cared deeply about her mother-in-law, and soon, she was crying just as much as I was and my own shirt was becoming stained with her tears.

My father had been viciously ripped out of my life, and the only thing that kept me from sinking into depression was my mother and the fact that I married the woman I loved a month after the battle with Drago.  
>And now, my mother was nearly killed, my fault again.<p>

Ah, what I'd have given for me to have been tortured by Dagur instead of her! Remembering my mother's torturer made my jaw twitch in momentary anger. I knew it sounded sadistic, but at that point, I almost wished that he was alive just so that I could kill him again…

"She's in good hands, Hiccup." Said Astrid, kissing my tear-soaked cheeks.

"-Dr. Watson is taking care of her. He didn't even say something before he started treating her himself. No one asked him to. He didn't even ask for help. I don't know much of him, Hiccup, but from what he's done so far, he is an honourable man, he won't give up on her. Plus, he is far better qualified than any of the healers on the island.

-Right, just don't let Gothi catch you saying that." I say, earning a chuckle out of her.

Me trying to lighten up the mood, even after everything that happened; already a sign that Astrid was returning me to normal.

"Sorry for crying." I murmur, somewhat ashamed of myself.

"Don't say that, Hiccup." Astrid replied, hugging me tighter.

"No, I mean it. I'm Chief, yet… I'm weak. Crying is weakness…" I say.

"Crying is weak!?" she said disgusted.

"-Crying is being human, Hiccup. Crying is admitting that you care. What would someone think if after your own mother was tortured, you just keep on chiefing like nothing happened?

-That I'm strong." I respond.

That earned a slap in the face. It wasn't a playful slap, like any other time Astrid hit me, this time it stung and hurt like a thousand bee stings. She had used a lot of force in her blow, which was unlike her when she hit me with playful punches. She now looked shocked and furious with me.

"No, Hiccup! That's what you think? That acting like nothing happened is what to do if your own _mother _gets tortured within an inch of her life!? You already did more than any chief could for the wounded. All the healers are working at full efficiency thanks to you. Now you have to stay with your mother. I'm worried about her too, you know. I cried myself." She said, her voice breaking ever so slightly as she remembered her mother in law.

She hugged and rocked me gently for what couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but I didn't care. I was doing the same to her, each of us comforting each other for the injury of the most important woman in our lives.

"I have to go." She whispered as she got up from me.

"Try to recover, okay? She'll be fine. I promise." She said, covering my hands with her own. It wasn't a promise that depended on her, but it comforted me nonetheless.

_Because it was Astrid who said it._

After she left. I just stood on the fur armchair, looking at the fire. I decided against drinking anymore whiskey, I was drunk enough as it was.  
>Minutes, and probably hours, ticked by, with me watching the hearth and silently praying that my mother would be fine. Watson had promised that she would be alright. He wasn't a man who broke promises. Not that he was sure of the result, but he tried to comfort me, and I knew that he would be doing his very best. I just hoped that '<em>his very best<em>' was enough to save my mother… Then, as I was swimming in my own dark thoughts, I heard a noise coming from my mother's room.

"What? The five percent solution sedative wasn't enough? No, no, Valka, get back to sleep, you're not-" I heard the doctor's soft, almost pleading voice. Then she screamed.

She screamed bloody murder and I heard the unmistakable sound of a blow on flesh and then Watson grunting in pain.

"NO! GO AWAY, YOU MONSTER! STOP! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE CUTS, YOU DERANGED BASTARD!" yelled my mother with a shrill shriek. I sprang up to my feet and rushed to her room, wondering what had happened.  
>But if she had woken up, it wasn't good.<p>

I swung open the door and ducked just in time to avoid a vase being thrown at me. She screamed even more when she saw me. She had stitches and bandages all over her body, and her right hand was completely covered in bandages and some gypsum in order to put the bones back in the right position. Her face too, had bandages all over, covering her face almost completely.

"NO! STOP IT! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE OF THIS! I SUBMIT! GO AWAY, DAGUR, YOU BASTARD!" she shrieked, shaking in the bed.

She thought that she still was tortured by Dagur…

"Mom, I'm here…" I try, feeling a sob clinging on my throat, my tears returning. Watson was desperately rummaging in his medical bag after something, presumably another sedative.

"Mom, please…" I say, sniffing back tears. I try to touch her cheek.

That was a bad idea, as it caused her to jump as if my hand was burning and looked at me as if I wanted to eat her alive, which I imagine, was exactly what her mind believed in her beaten state. She screamed and grabbed a scalpel from the side table with her good hand and swung it at me! I jumped back just in time not to get stabbed.

"Mom! It's me! Calm down! No one is going to hurt you!" I say, unable to contain the sobs as I saw my mother in this state.

I grabbed her wrist and held it tightly. Watson was now filling up his syringe with some liquid from a bottle and checking tapping the needle with his forefinger.  
>When had she gotten this strong? I was struggling to keep the small blade from reaching me, pushing back, teeth gritted.<br>Watson was now rushing to us with a syringe in his hand. Mom screamed when she saw the doctor approaching and kicked him in the stomach. Watson grunted and staggered a bit, and she tried to kick him again, but he was too far away to hit.  
>I took this opportunity to force the scalped out of her hand. I then pin her down, grabbing both of her wrists. Watson then shoved the syringe into her shoulder and pushed the piston down all the way. She twitched a bit and tears were streaming down her bruised and bandaged face.<p>

"Go away… go away…" she begged weakly. She still didn't realize that Dagur wasn't torturing her anymore.

I knew that her getting into a sedative-induced sleep while she still was panicked was probably going to cause permanent damage, and if there was the slightest chance of that, I wasn't willing to take it. Besides, even if that didn't happen, her dream state would be filled with nightmares.  
>I needed to think of something to calm her, fast, before the sedative took effect.<p>

I then get an idea…

The song... It would soothe her even in this state...

I only hoped that it was worth remembering it…

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas…" I chant softly, tears stinging my eyes as I remember my father who sang this so long ago, and who would never come back… She instantly relaxed and she stopped breathing heavily.

"With never a fear of drowning…" I continue, trying my best not to break down sobbing as I said this.

"And gladly ride the waves of life…" at this point, the song was unclear due to my sobbing, but she calmed, and I knew that it wasn't just from the sedative.

"If you will marry me…" I finish, and unable to contain it anymore, I bury my head into her chest and sob into the bandages.

"Hiccup?" she slurred. My heart skipped a beat and I looked at my mother. She touched my cheek and even managed a gentle smile, despite the sedative taking effect. I choke a sob as I look at her. It had worked...  
>I decide to remember every detail of this moment. This was probably the very last time I would see her alive, and I wanted to make the most of it. The way I could still catch a glimpse of emerald eyes through the almost closed eyelids, which were silently telling me not to worry, her gentle fading smile, and the gentle touch that only a mother could give on my cheek.<p>

"You're…you're so much like your father… Be strong..." was all she said before unconsciousness took hold of her completely.

"Mom…" I say, hugging her bandaged head. What she had went through… It would haunt her for the rest of her life if she did wake up. I shake that thought out of my head.

No. She _would _wake up. I wouldn't have it any other way.  
>Then I think about what she said. She said "<em>be strong<em>". As in: _be strong, because I will pass away._

No, no, she couldn't know whether she was going to live or not, no one did, but still, she _readied me for it. _  
>She felt that she would die soon, and wanted to say goodbye... And with that, I bury my head in her bandaged chest and silently cry, not knowing what else to do. She thought that she was going to die...<p>

She might die...

A sudden warmth on my shoulder makes me stiffen, but then I realize it was only Watson putting his hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He said sympathetically.

"Look… I need to finish up over here, check if she sustained any injuries during her seizure. Please…" he says with a pang of regret.

I nod, kiss her forehead and get up, letting the doctor get to her side. I decided to sit in the room, just watching her unconscious face as Watson was treating the few injuries she had left untreated. The sedative was powerful, I couldn't even see the swell of her chest as she breathed, she already looked like she was… I slap myself before thinking the word "dead".

I wouldn't think about that again.

"You want to go out?" asked Watson as he finished, putting all of his medical utensils back into his bag. I nodded and followed him out of the room.

I whispered "goodnight" to my mother even though I knew that she couldn't hear me. I stare back at her for a full minute before I close the door and wipe away the rest of my tears.

"How bad is it?" I ask.

"Most of the lacerations are not deep, yet a few of the managed to sever major arteries, but thankfully, I was able to stop the bleeding. Those injuries are the ones that worry me.  
>Three of her ribs are broken, I think that the bastard kicked her.<br>Her right hand is completely crushed, he must have stomped on it. I had to… surgically rearrange the bones inside her hand." He said, his voice wavering ever so slightly as he said the last sentence.

He was just admitting that he had to cut open my mother's hand in order to treat broken bones and fingers. The doctor kept a neutral, yet sympathetic glance as he said all this.

"Even so…" he hesitated.

"I hate to tell you this… but this is a waiting game with no guarantees. She may recover within a week or die within the hour, and I can't say for sure, not with her injuries and the amount of blood she lost." He says.

There it was. She might never come back…

"I swear to God I'll do my very best." Watson said as he saw the tears that were pooling up in my eyes. Try as I might, I couldn't stop the tears that were now streaming down my face.

My mother would probably die… She might never wake up…

"I also need to tell you something else." Said the doctor as he sat me down on an armchair. He put one of his large hands on my shoulder, probably in an effort to comfort me.

"Her… outburst there worries me. I'd understand that she panicked upon seeing me, as her brain still didn't recover from that ordeal, but you?  
>She nearly stabbed with my scalpel, even though she saw it was you clearly.<br>She only calmed after you sang… whatever that was. No need to tell me what it was, it clearly made you… uncomfortable." He said, stopping me from saying that it was the song that my mother and father shared in the Sanctuary.  
>Oh, how I imagined them singing that song in our house…<p>

_Our _house…

How I would have watched them dancing in front of the hearthfire singing that magical song, how both my parents would have seen me marry Astrid, how my father, Stoick the Vast would have been able to see me become Chief and witness me bringing our village into a new era of peace…

If only I had moved out of Toothless' way! Why had I decided to just try and snap him out of it? Did I really think that me shouting would be any match for the Bewilderbeast's mind control?  
>No, that wasn't my biggest mistake. That would have to be not killing Drago the moment I laid eyes on that piece of filth… If I had just blasted him with Toothless as soon as the battle started, everything would have been fine!<br>That bastard… I tried to change his mind the first time… Oh I'll change his mind now, this time! I'll stomp his brain until there's nothing left but a thin red paste, that's how I'll change it…

"Are you ready?" he said, bringing out of my thoughts. Judging from what direction my mind was taking, that was a good thing. I take in a deep breath in and out and repeated the process until I felt calmer.

"Watson, these past few hours I've lived with every possibility, however grim. You can say anything." I say. It was a lie.

I _wasn't _ready. If he had said that my mother wouldn't make it, I would have broken down sobbing, begging pathetically to save her. Watson looked uneasy and hesitated a few times before speaking. My heart was beating hard in my chest, as I was thinking of what he was going to say. What was it? Every passing second felt like an hour of agony.

"SPEAK UP ALREADY!" I yell, grabbing him by his large shoulders and shaking his heavy frame. Though he looked a bit shocked, he made no move to go away from me. I get my hands off him after I realize the gravity of my outburst and wait for him to speak.

"Very well. The way she… panicked. It's not normal, even after mental trauma like hers. I've seen this before in people who have been through something like she has. Some of my army comrades, after a particularly brutal attack by the Afghans, were never the same again. They're in an asylum as we speak, stuck in their own mental hell, thinking that they are still in the heat of battle or being tortured until the day they die." He said.

In my drunken and panicked state I couldn't really feel the full gravity of what he said.

"So… what does that mean?" I ask. Watson put his hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye with sympathy, yet determination at the same time. His light hazel eyes were gleaming with apology and determination.

"It means, Haddock, that even if your mother makes it, she might remain insane for life." He says.

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><p><strong><em>Alright, guys, I've tried to pretty much make this chapter as emotional as possible, so... did I make you cry? XD<br>No, seriously, now, as a novice writer I have to ask: was this chapter as sad as I intended? I know it sounds dumb, but I'm still not very confident while writing._**

Also, I'm not a doctor, so please excuse anything dumb that Watson may have said.


	29. Chapter 28- Brother Dear

_**Author's note: ****Hello guys! After a looooong wait, here is chapter 28! School was and is hell, 12th grade is hard as hell and studying for the GCSE left me only rare, short breaks in order to write, and most of the time, I had writer's block and only ten minutes to fix it.****  
>But, now, here it is!<strong>_

**_Another reason why I updated this late is because I uploaded a oneshot, "Memories", a Hurt\Comfort story about Valka's guilt over leaving Hiccup behind. If you could check it out, you won't regret it!_**

**_So, without further ado..._**

**_Here it is! :D_**

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><p><span><em><strong>Holmes:<strong>_

After the Berkians left the fort they left a Nadder in order for me to get back on Berk once I was done searching for clues.

Moriarty was gone from this fort, that much was obvious, but he must have left something which led me to where he had gone next. Not even someone as brilliant as the Napoleon of Crime could leave a location without leaving behind clues which led me to him and his next movements.  
>This fort was vast, but I could limit his movements to only several sections of the location: Professor James Moriarty wouldn't have mingled with the rest of the soldiers: one of the few flaws which my nemesis had was his love for luxury and his repulse to living like a "commoner".<br>While he could take on a variety of disguises and go into less privileged areas of the world easily if he needed to, Moriarty always figured himself as exactly who he was: the mastermind behind the plan, the king-spider at the centre of his criminal web who could at any time make the strands move to his liking.

Therefore, I deduced that the only places in which Moriarty actually set foot were the docks, the master bedrooms and the towers. I once again glanced at the room in which we had found Valka.

This never should have happened... it could have been avoided…

No. I couldn't let emotions rule me. I needed clear thought, not worry myself with some woman I had met a few weeks ago.  
>She was being cared for by Watson, she was in the best of hands.<p>

Yet… I remembered when I deduced when Dagur had tortured her and that she was in the room, just how difficult it was for me to tell Haddock. In fact, I hadn't told him, I _showed_ him.  
>I remembered how opening the door, knowing what he will see, felt like I had a weight tied to my wrist. I remembered how it took all of my self-control not to go and comfort him as he sobbed over his mother's seemingly dead body. And I remembered how I considered for a minute to restrain him as he drew his sword to kill that monster, Dagur.<br>That bastard surely had plenty of information on Moriarty and Drago. Even though the Professor was very careful not to give any of his underlings more information than they absolutely needed, Dagur was sure to know a lot about the extent of Moriarty's new network. Sure, he would give nothing up in an interrogation, but I had my own methods of making even the most hardened criminals talk (non-violent methods, mind you) and even if he did not say anything, I could have definitely deduced a lot of things about his thoughts.

But I let him die. Why? Because I had once again let my emotions take priority to cold, hard reasoning. Because that bastard didn't deserve to live. Because he tortured one of the bravest and most intelligent women I met to near and probable death simply to satisfy his sadistic pleasure. And in that moment, that single moment of hesitation to restrain Haddock was all it took for me to lose one of the safest leads to Moriarty.  
>I wouldn't make that mistake again.<p>

Dagur's own office and quarters had to be only a few yards away from the torture chamber: someone as sadistic as he would keep the rooms he considered important close to his rooms. It didn't take long to find it: all the other doors were nearly knocked out of their hinges thanks to dozens of Berserkers rushing in and out at once.  
>Dagur's own chambers were off-limits to any other Trappers or Berserkers, with his pride, he considered his rooms to be holy ground. Besides, at his room even the door itself was decorated with a flag of the Berserkers and two crossed axes above it.<br>There was no point in trying to open the door: he must have certainly locked it. I took out my lockpicks and got to work. The lock was surprisingly complex considering the Archipelago's rudimentary technology. It certainly was the best kind of lock money could buy around here.  
>Nevertheless, I made quick work of it; I could pick even the most German locks or the crack the toughest safeboxes, this was elementary.<p>

The room itself was almost the size of an average sitting room and it was heavily decorated: the wood was heavily polished and there were about a dozen dragon heads hung above the large stone mantelpiece. I instantly deduce that only three of these were to his name: they were the most heavily polished and I deduced from the position of a chair under them with dirt granules on it that Dagur himself took it to polish his prized kills by getting up on a chair, hence the dirt; the only time he ever did any manual labour himself.  
>His weapon rack, containing a mace, an axe and a longsword, lacked his sword and dagger, as he had used them against Watson. Despite the fact that the weapons were polished, I was still able to spot very faint smeared blood , proof of his narcissism: doesn't let anyone polish his weapons but himself, hence their somewhat poor condition of hygene.<p>

Greasy crumbs on the desk from different days confirm to me that he always ate here, not with his men, further proof of his pride. Upon picking up the crumbs and sniffing them it was revealed that it was revealed that it was omelette. But it smelled… different.

I instantly realize why: the omelette was made out of dragon eggs. Try as I might to suppress it, I gasped in shock. That monster… now that I thought about it, if Haddock hadn't killed Dagur, I'd have shot him myself once I returned on Berk.  
>But… along with that sinister realization, came something else. A very, very faint smell, so faint that it almost escaped even my remarkable sense of smell.<p>

Tobacco. However, I could not determine exactly what kind of tobacco it was, but it had to be Moriarty's.  
>Moriarty was a very light smoker, he mostly only smoked when he was with someone else and he wanted to appear superior in front of them. What better way to do that than to blow smoke in their face and then ask for an ashtray?<br>With that realization, I try Dagur's drawers, but they were locked. Ten seconds of lockpicking later and that was no longer a problem.

A very small wooden plate made for holding cups was on top. There, the improvised ashtray provided by Dagur at Moriarty's request. I take it and I sniff it. Very high quality tobacco, with a touch of peppermint.  
>The exact brand… I close my eyes and delve into my Mind Palace. I estimated the peppermint to be about 3% of the composition. I had several dozen brands of tobacco that had special herbs in their composition stored in my memory, but I stop at a certain one: Ricardo, Moriarty's favourite and only brand of cigars. Mexican brand, exactly 3.1% peppermint, produced by Mexico, imported in extremely limited quantities in London, very expensive, sold at only ten tobacconists in London in total.<br>However, at just how cautious Moriarty is, he would have different people buying from different stores in order to cover any tracks, even when he just wants a smoke. However, this tells me one thing: Moriarty has been in London for a prolonged amount of time at least once. There's no way he would have cigars sent all the way to the Archipelago just so he could smoke two cigars a day: it was far too costly and risky for just cigars.  
>Therefore, he made a small supply of cigars while in London to smoke in the Archipelago. However, given the Professor's snobbish and narcissistic personality, he wouldn't have just bought the cigars one by one to stockpile them in a brown paper bag: no, surely he bought them with a special case. One small enough that it could fit in his pocket, yet posh enough that it would have impressed anyone if they saw it on his desk. Polished mahogany wood with gold, probably even precious stones. That was the most likely order for Moriarty. There were other possibilities, but the balance of probability leaned toward that.<p>

However, I then notice some papers. They were the rough, brown papers that could be found around the Archipelago and it was written in their language, but the writing… the writing was Moriarty's. I instantly deduce that these were plans given to Dagur by Moriarty. I read them and I frown.

All of the plans were pointless… They were tasks such as '_occupy this empty island on day X_' or '_build these many ships on day Y_' none of which would have been of any benefit.  
>I instantly realize it: these plans were gibberish on purpose. Moriarty knew, he <em>knew, <em>that this fort would fall in a matter of days. He had planned it all ahead…

He was still one step ahead of us…

All of this was practically for naught, as Moriarty already knew it would happen… However, this confirmed to me that Moriarty truly was back in England, or at least the civilized world. And Mycroft's response to my request for information would give me at least some information on what Moriarty had done so far. In some cases, one step backwards led to two steps forward, and this certainly was the case.

I then go toward the quarters. I deduce where the masters' beds were by the observing just how clean the path was that led to them compared to the one which led upstairs to the common rooms.  
>Dagur's room offered me little to nothing in the means of telling me what I didn't know: except for the fact that he hasn't once been in the civilized world with Moriarty or Drago: there were no souvenirs from outside of the Archipelago: a man of his pride would have showcased exquisite suits, jewellery from the finest Swiss jewellers, to show whoever he considered worthy of entering his quarters that he had gone beyond the Archipelago and made the best of it. Therefore, Moriarty never took Dagur to England, not that it surprised me, someone like Dagur, with his anger and ego taking over his clear thinking would have been a real stick in the cogs for Moriarty's plans. Sure, Drago had the same problems, but he was far smarter, and when he needed to remain calm, he remained calm and the Professor knew that.<p>

I picked open the second door and I smelled… cleaning products. I deduce immediately why: this was Moriarty's room, and he destroyed everything inside it to prevent Haddock or anyone else from knowing that he was here or what his next move was. Upon opening the door my fears were confirmed: the room was absolutely empty, with nothing but a strong smell of alcohol-based cleaners inside. Drago's room was no different, Moriarty must have convinced the madman to do the same with his own quarters.  
>I curse and slap the wall in a rare moment of frustration. However, with him cleaning the room came something else: upon smelling the vapours, I couldn't find any match for common cleaning products inside my mind palace. Moriarty was himself an experienced chemist, but this composition was designed to completely remove any traces of fingerprints, scents and any other clue.<p>

This was the work of a genius. A man whose experience in chemistry may even surpass my own.  
>Hans Schielmann. A German professor, doctor and chemist, personal friend of Moriarty, but he was never convicted due to lack of evidence. He was now helping his colleague again. By ridding this room of every single piece of evidence gave me more to go on than any strand of hair or document could have given me. This was all.<p>

I step outside, grabbing a fish from a barrel on my way out. The Nadder was waiting for me, sleeping soundly, curled around herself. I tossed the fish in front of her and rub her chin in a way that Valka and Haddock taught me that it would wake up a dragon without alarming them. The green-scaled young female woke up chirping at me and ate the fish gratefully with one bite. I couldn't help but smile. There was simply something about all dragons that simply stirred my emotions, as much as I tried to conceal them and be the "brain without the heart".

"Back to Berk, girl." I say, lighting a pipe as I mounted her.

_**Watson:**_ After I said that his mother may remain insane for life due to her post traumatic stress, Haddock didn't initially have a response, but I could see beyond that mask of stoicism just how much those news cut him inside.  
>After only a moment of this, however, he sniffed back tears and began walking aimlessly around the room. Then, without warning, he cried out in despair, and flipped a table, shattering the few plates that were on it in the process.<br>Without his consent, he released a sob, but then tried to compose himself to little avail as he picked up the table. I couldn't remain idle as he did this.

"-I'll do my best. Look, she became lucid after you sang the song, it's a good sign. I think she'll recover, mentally and physically.

-Yes… yes…" was all he could respond as he sniffed back more tears and he blinked repeatedly. I wanted to tell him that his mother would be alright, that she would be walking within a week, being her old self, laughing, talking, riding dragons with him… but I knew that with her injuries there was no guarantee and I knew that I would never forgive myself if I told him that his mother would be alright and then she died.

"Look… I'm sorry. I know what you're going through." I say as I approached him. He turned around so suddenly that I almost flinched.

"You know what I'm going through?" he asked with barely contained fury.

"I too lost my father when I was only twenty. My mother fell deathly ill just a few months later. I know what it feels like." I say sympathetically.

"You know what it feels like!?" he yelled. He tried to throw a punch at me, but thankfully, I dodged, his reflexes were slow and telegraphed thanks to all the whiskey he poured into himself.

"Haddock!" I yelled shocked, putting my hands forward in what I hoped was a disarming gesture. Thankfully, he didn't approach me. If he had continued his attack, I would have had to use force, and that was the last thing this poor young man deserved after what he'd been through.

"You know what it feels like…?" he asked just as angrily, only that this time his voice was barely a whisper.

"You know what it feels like to have both parents for only a day? Huh?" he asked taking a step forward, his fists balled to his side. I hoped that if he lunged, I'd be able to pin him down without hitting him.

"You know what it feels like to…" he stopped to rub his eyes and choke a sob.

"To… watch your best friend kill your father?" he asked, stuttering, trying his best not to break down.

"YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO WATCH YOUR BEST FRIEND GET TURNED INTO A MURDEROUS TOOL BY A MADMAN!?" he yelled even harder.

"Or what it's like to see your best friend as a murderer!? I can never look at Toothless the same way ever again! No matter how much time passes, no matter how much I argue with myself that it wasn't his fault, no matter how much I know that he's beating himself over it when it wasn't even his fault, no matter how much I know that he never would have done that, I JUST CAN'T!" he screeched, kicking a chair with his prosthesis.

It tore my heart apart, seeing someone who was normally such a happy, calm and calculated brilliant young man in this state. I said nothing simply because I didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say, not that he would listen anyway in his panicked, inebriated state.

"And after all that, my mother, whom I've had for less than a year, gets tortured within an inch of her life by a madman… And she might die, and that's not even counting just how much she will suffer mentally…the nightmares, the trauma… she won't be able to look at a dark corner without thinking that she sees Dagur there… she will see him when she wakes up, she will see him in her sleep, she will think she sees him on the street… and that's if she even survives!" he said in barely a sobby whisper, looking at his feet.

"Therefore, I don't think you have the slightest _f***ing_ idea what I'm going through!" he finished.

He began breathing heavily, looking around. I simply sat in silence, unsure of what to do. He was right. He had been torn apart.

Sure, I had suffered loss, I had suffered war, I had suffered injury, but it was nothing compared to what he had been through. I couldn't imagine what it was like for him to have his father die immediately after finding out that he had both parents, and worst of all, that it was all, more or less, his best friend's fault.

He had watched his best friend murder his father.

I couldn't imagine the hurricane of emotions he felt every single time he laid eyes on his best friend. No matter how much time passes, how many challenges their bond passes, how much time they spend together, he will always feel anger and hatred toward his beloved dragon, and worse still, he knows that it's all unfair, he knows that Toothless is beating himself up over it enough without him reminding him of it, but there's no way he can stop those feelings from interfering with his love for his friend, no matter how much he shoves them away, they will always be in a tiny corner, never allowing him to look at his Night Fury the same way ever again. Haddock then began crying softly while sitting himself down on a chair.

"Mom…" he mumbled in a broken voice. I approached him carefully and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" he said, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Don't be." I said simply.

"I tried to punch you." He said shocked as if only now he had realized it.

"You were only trying to help… and I tried to beat you…" he whispered, trying in vain to stop crying.

"I don't know what's going on with me, Dr. Watson. I'm… I'm losing myself. What I did to Maul… what I did to Dagur… I'm supposed to be better than that." He said quietly.

"You're sorry for killing Dagur?" I asked bewildered.

"Let me tell you something, lad. If you hadn't killed him, I'd have shot him myself." I say, feeling my jaw twitch as I recalled what that inhuman bastard did to Valka. It was true. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing Valka like that, I actually half-drew my gun, but when I saw Haddock glaring at Dagur, I knew that he was going to kill him, and he had the right to, so I sat and watched.

"Sorry I lashed out." He repeated drunkenly.

"Don't be. Look, rest up, I'll stay with your mother." I say, patting his shoulder.

"Watson?" he said as I turned for the door which led to his mother's room.

"Yes?" I asked, turning around.

"-Thank you. For everything. You saved my mother's life. Again. I… I can never repay you.

-Just doing my job." I said shrugging.

"No, doctor. You're doing it from your heart, I know that. Thank you. I know… that you've already done more for my mother than any doctor ever could and it's not right to ask you for more, but… could you stay with my mother? And, please, don't give up on her, she's been through worse. She fought Drago for twenty years on her own. If she could do that, she can go through this." He said.

"-I was going back to her, anyway, lad. I can't leave her for one second in her state. I'm sorry…

-Why are you sorry?" he questioned. It was my turn to look to the ground in shame.

I could have prevented this, this was my fault…

"When your mother went with Cloudjumper to the dragons that were held captive in the towers, I had a chance to jump on Cloud together with her. I didn't. I considered it for a moment, but she went away the following second. If I hadn't hesitated, I could have protected her, I… it's my fault." I say, barely able to keep my voice together.

It was my fault… I could have protected her, I could have went with her, I should have realized that releasing the dragons was too great a feat for her to pull off on her own. In that second in which she appeared atop Cloudjumper, I had the chance to join her.  
>I didn't, like the coward that I was. As I said this, Haddock's face was completely unreadable, but I knew that he was steaming up inside.<p>

I said nothing else, simply awaiting his reaction. If he had lunged at me and began beating me, I wouldn't have resisted. I deserved it, my hesitation was the reason his mother was tortured to near-death.  
>Hell, it was only now that <em>I <em>started thinking about it and realized just how big a mistake I made.

"I'm sorry, lad. I'm so sorry…" I say, being surprised at just how weak and wavering my voice sounded.

"No." was all he said.

"No, Watson. What if you hadn't helped with the assault? The Gatling gun? If it hadn't been for your marksmanship, they'd have removed the fake bullet and mowed us all down. And you treated Eret's wounded leg. What if you hadn't been there? None of the Berkian healers have any experience with bullet wounds. He'd have died if it weren't for you. We are all in your debt. You didn't doom my mother, you saved her. Thank you." He said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I smiled in return.  
>He truly thought about everyone but himself. Eret would have died, and so would have many other Berkians had I went with his mother.<p>

Without another word, I went back to be with his mother.

"-And, Watson? -Yes?" I ask, turning around. To my surprise, he had a small smile on his face. Just barely, but it was still there.

"Don't call me 'lad'. You may be twenty years older, but I'm of a higher rank, don't push your luck." He said almost cheerfully.  
>I laughed in return. You could bring Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third down, but God love him, he keeps getting back up no matter what.<p>

Upon entering his mother's room, I checked her breathing, pulse and for a fever. Her pulse was stable, considering that she was sedated and her fever was gone, thanks to administering an Acetaminophen injection. There was hardly anything else I could do for her, all her injuries were sewn, the bleeding seemed to have stopped for now and she would be unconscious for several more hours.  
>In the time I had been with her, I liked to think that we developed a solid friendship, and I don't know why, but seeing her like this filled me with sudden grief and pain. I still felt like it was my fault. Even though Haddock was right that had I not helped with the siege, many others would have died, but still… maybe Holmes could have done everything that I did, maybe the healers could have asked Holmes for help in treating Eret's bullet wound, maybe…<p>

I stopped. There was no point in playing the blame game. A sudden pain in my left arm reminds me of Dagur stabbing my arm with his dagger. I hardly gave it any attention, just a flimsy bandage with some antiseptic. I removed my suit jacket, a process which was far more painful than it should have normally been and I see that the blood had soaked through my bandage and straight through the shirt. The wound was far more serious than I had initially thought. Upon removing the actual bandage I was relieved to see that while the wound was still open, no pus had formed.

So, I took my suturing kit from my medical bag and began the painful process of stitching my own flesh...

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Cloudjumper<strong>_: Just stop it! I'm fine! Why couldn't all the healers just leave me alone?

My rider needed me. She needed me! She had nearly died… She had been cut countless of times just for that bastard Dagur's amusement… I couldn't understand how some humans could call our kin monsters. Dragons never did anything just to satisfy their sadistic pleasure. They never tortured anyone just for the sake of seeing someone squirm until they died a horrible, painful death.  
>If my rider's son hadn't killed that beast, I'd have eaten him alive. I knew that it was wrong to think about that, but I would have actually <em>enjoyed <em>it… The worst part was that it was all my fault…  
>Why had I let her get inside that Odin-damned tower? She said that I was too big to even fit inside the fort, that was true, but I could have flown higher on the top and watched her!<br>I would have seen Dagur sneaking up on her and I could have cooked that worm alive before he could have done anything or at least warn her…

Ever since I first took her back to the Sanctuary twenty years ago, I made her a promise that I would never let anything happen to her and that I would die if that warranted her safety. I had already broken that promise a few times: first when I listened to the new evil Alpha and left her: why couldn't I resist his control? Why had my mind simply not simply refused to listen to the primordial '_follow the dragon that won'_ instinct instead of listening to both my emotions and my reasoning that I couldn't leave Valka, I couldn't leave the woman who had been like a mother to me?

But, she comforted me that I couldn't resist the Alpha's mind control abilities and that no dragon in the world could have. But, it was a few days ago that I had no such excuse: when she had invited the good doctor to join her on one of her flights and they rested on a little island. We were attacked by wannabe dragon trapper younglings. One of them had a brother who had died when Valka froze the fort with the True Alpha and he sought revenge and tried to kill her. I had been so, so selfish and decided to simply defend myself against my attackers and not keep an eye on her.  
>If it hadn't been for the doctor to tackle and defeat the vengeful youngster, she'd have been strangled to death.<p>

And now, I didn't even join her on her quest to free the enslaved dragons on the fort… The moment I saw Watson coming out of that room with her on his shoulder, completely unmoving, having cuts and gauze all over her body…

My keen ears instantly picked up her heartbeat, which made me screech with relief, but also worry: it was so, so shallow… The smell of blood was strong, she had bled so much that if it hadn't been for the fact that the doctor treated her as soon as she found her, she'd have bled out… But the most terrifying smell was that of fear… Dragons could smell fear and I was no different. I realized just how terrified she was, how much pain she had been put through, how much she wished that Dagur would just kill her already so that her suffering would end…

A lot of Vikings believed that dragons are emotionless and can't suffer in that respect simply because they don't cry. That couldn't be further from the truth: by crying, humans eject some of the suffering from themselves, they drain themselves of the worst of negative thoughts, but when you can't cry, those emotions eat you from the inside out.  
>They prey on you and mercilessly show you your most dreaded memories over and over again… That is what dragons felt instead of crying.<p>

"Alright, Cloudjumper, that should do it, but-" the healer didn't even get to say another word before I ran out of the stables and took off toward where I knew that my other half was being treated.  
>I heard the healer yell after me, but I didn't even understand what she was saying, all I was hearing was Valka calling me to her.<p>

I didn't take me long for me to get to the Chief's house: the Stormcutters are very quick dragons thanks to their second pair of wings. I carefully approached the window of the top floor. Thanks to my height, I was able to peek my head through the windows of the upper floors and thankfully the windows were large enough for me to do that.

I saw her.

It took all of my self-control not to roar in worry and sorrow. Her face was bruised and bandaged in a few places. Her arms were covered in stitches and bandages. I remembered that when I saw her earlier she had so many cuts that it was difficult to see her skin, yet now, there were clean, small stitches everywhere. I realize who had done that: Dr. Watson.  
>He truly had done a prime job: there would most likely be very little scarring. Watson's needlework was rather admirable, far superior to any healer on Berk. My keen ears also picked up my dear Valka's heartbeat: while it was slow, it was steady and it would remain so. Once again, thanks to Watson's impressive healing abilities.<br>However, I was also able to smell once again the thing which I was most afraid of smelling: fear. I instantly deduce that she had woken up while the doctor was treating her and she thought that she still was being tortured by Dagur…

I involuntarily coo in sorrow, wishing that dragons were able to cry just so that I could get my emotions out and lessen my pain. I wanted to bury my head into my rider's chest and lick and nuzzle her, to spend these precious moments with her, but the bed was too far away.

"Oh, hey Cloudjumper." Said a voice in the room. I turn my head and I see Dr. Watson. He was stripped of his suit jacket, waistcoat and shirt, leaving him only in his white tank top, also revealing a round scar on his right shoulder from when he was in a war, a scar caused by… bullets they were called? He had taken off his clothes to treat the arm wound which that monster Dagur had inflicted on him.  
>From his wound I was also able to smell Valka's blood, he had stabbed the doctor with the very weapon with which he tortured my rider. As soon as I saw him, I felt my expression turn into one of absolute gratefulness: he had saved Valka's life, again.<p>

By smelling his wound once again, I am able to realize even from that distance, that he had left it untreated far more than he should have. He ignored his own throbbing wounds.

_ To make sure that Valka was alright…_

My gratitude to the man couldn't be described. He thought about everyone but himself. I would make sure to find a way to thank him for all this…

He was suturing his own wound with his right hand. He was sitting completely still, not exhibiting any signs of pain save for a few involuntary winces.  
>I looked at Valka's bed with longing. What wouldn't have I given to be able to press my head against her bandaged chest…<p>

Before I even have time to finish that thought, the bed slides itself to me. Dumbstruck, I look up to see that Watson had pushed it to my side. How strong was he? That bed had also been Stoick the Vast's own bed, it couldn't have weighed less than a small dragon, yet he pushed it almost instantly, arm wound and all.

"Just don't get into her too much. Be gentle." He said looking at me with a compassionate hazel gaze. Without waiting anymore, I place my head on her chest, gently cooing in my own way of sorrow.  
>I lick her cheek as if to wake her up, wishing beyond anything that she would do so and once again scratching under the chin and riding among the clouds, discovering new places, saving dragons, just the two of us… I nuzzle her left hand as her right was broken and in lairs of gauze and gypsum, again wishing that she could wake up, scratch me behind the ear with her hand and tell me not to worry.<br>Without my consent, I let go of a half-coo, half-roar, the closest thing I was capable of to sobbing.

She might never wake up…

There may never be another time in which we ride together, check on the Sanctuary, saving and healing other dragons and generally enjoying our bond. I felt closer to her than I ever felt to my real dragon mate, who had been killed by the murderous Drago Bludvist.

My thoughts were interrupted by a warmth on my muzzle. It was Watson trying to comfort me.  
>He instantly retracts and takes a step backwards the moment I look at him. He must have still been slightly scared of me, after all, it was only a few weeks ago when he learned of the existence of dragons.<br>I look at him with such kindness and gratitude for all he did for me and my rider that he immediately went back to me. I look at his wound once again. While he showed no pain, there was no way it didn't hurt like Hel.  
>The moment he comes close to me, I lick his wound. While I didn't have healing properties like Night Furies, any dragons' saliva had at least a painkiller effect. It was the least I could do for the good doctor. He takes a step back in surprise, but the pain must have lessened in the next second, as he immediately sighed as if a boulder had been removed off his chest.<p>

"Thanks." He said smiling, rubbing my muzzle with far more confidence than he had previously. I stood there for a long time, simply enjoying the company of my rider and the man who had saved her life…

_**Haddock:**_ It was almost night-time when Holmes arrived back on Berk. He told me that he had deduced that Moriarty had planned the fort's demise ahead of time and that he still was a step ahead of us. However, the good news is that he also deduced that Hans Schielmann was helping Moriarty. Hans Schielmann was a genius in many fields: he was an expert chemist, a great doctor and biologist and an experienced physicist.  
>Though he helped Moriarty in the past, Schielmann made sure to wipe away any evidence that led to him, and though it was well known that he was Moriarty's friend in the academic field, all he had to do was swear up and down that he didn't know of the professor's criminal activities and he was set free.<p>

"Right, so what do we do now?" I ask.

"I shall have to piece together all the pieces of evidence in my Mind Palace. Only then will I be able to say what our next move is. I need to deduce exactly who else Moriarty has hired, what his connections are and how powerful his influence over England and the world in general is. " he said, going to his room and locking the door behind him. I had managed to calm down a few hours after Watson had treated my mother. I even managed to take care of some chiefing duties, though I undertook them more to take my mind off things than anything else. I needed to occupy my brain with something to take its focus away from the fact that my mother was dying and that _I could have prevented it all in the first place…_

Suddenly, as I was writing down the list of injured and how many days each man was given to heal and rest, I heard something peculiar. It sounded like something gliding downwards, but it wasn't a dragon. I heard something which sounded like buzzing like an engine, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was...

However, a familiar chirp coming from one of the upper windows brought me out of these thoughts.

Sharpy, the Terrible Terror I had sent to Mycroft had returned. For the first time since I left the fort, I felt genuinely happy. She was carrying a stack of what looked like newspapers and handwritten reports.

Mycroft had responded.

"Welcome back, bud!" I say, my voice having genuine glee in it. Finally, something good had happened today. I would take the stack to Holmes, and Mycroft had certainly also sent a lot of information himself, and with his intelligence, also wrote exactly what Holmes should do next.

Things were looking up.

However, Sharpy looked like he wanted to desperately tell me something. If my mother was around, she could have instantly realized what he was saying in dragonese, but for me, it could take minutes just to understand one "sentence" (dragonese doesn't exactly have any notion of sentences. It's difficult to explain). Just as I was trying to figure out what he said, a guard came through the door.

"Chief! We've just caught someone!" he said.

"Who? A spy, another assassin sent by Moriarty?" I ask.

"No, sir, he went straight to the guardhouse and requested a meeting with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, but I decided it was best to get to you first. He doesn't look like he's from around here, he's got one of those fancy suits." Said the burly man gruffly.

I got up and went straight to the guardhouse. Who was he? Was it a trap? That would explain why he asked for Holmes, call him in and shoot him as soon as he entered, how easy would that be? But if it was a trap, then it also meant I had to be careful.

"-Was he armed? -No, sir. Just this." With that, he handed a tortoise-shell box and a matchbook. The tortoise shell had a golden lock and looked very expensive. Whoever was the owner was rather wealthy. I opened the box and it was revealed to be a cigar box. The cigars were long and thick. Cuban, I deduce from the label. I take one and sniff it. It definitely was the most expensive kind of tobacco money could buy. Too wealthy to be an average assassin, and even a wealthy one would have left behind such a bulky box.  
>But maybe it was a trap-cigar? I had read a few dime novels and even seen headlines in newspapers during my time in London about Cigars filled with gunpowder and used to assassinate unsuspecting targets. But, I quickly got that out of my mind: I had smelled them and it was beyond a shadow of a doubt real tobacco.<br>I opened the door to the guardhouse and laid my eyes on the man sat at the interrogation table.

This guy was huge, larger than even an average Viking, measuring well over six foot five. However, unlike most Vikings, his size was not owed to muscle, but to… well, fat. He had so vast a paunch that he was forced to sit well away from the table.  
>He was elderly, early fifties I assumed, by his almost fully grey hair and wrinkles around his eyes. His twinkling, intelligent grey eyes looked… almost familiar.<br>His suit was exquisite. Silk and cashmere, each and every piece of clothing clearly made at an expensive and methodical tailor as I doubted that his suit would have fitted anyone even slightly smaller or larger than him. His top hat was placed on the table, again, obviously made at one of the best hatters in London.  
>I was rather relieved when I noticed that his ankles were cuffed, even though I felt safe: Despite his size, this fat old man didn't seem like much of a fighter.<p>

As soon as he laid eyes on me, his expression frowned, his bushy eyebrows nearly coming together.

"For God's sake, I requested Sherlock Holmes, not the Chief!" he said in a slightly croaked, raspy voice. His accent was beyond a shadow of a doubt, 100% British, not Irish or Scottish. It also sounded elevated, a very educated and intelligent man who is also of high society.

"You will only meet Sherlock Holmes when I see fit." I say as harshly as I could, placing both my hands on the desk and staring him down. He snorted.

"I came here unarmed, I went to the guardhouse to request a meeting, and I'm put in chains and treated like a spy. Is that how you treat all your visitors?" he asked.  
>His voice didn't sound sarcastic at all, on the contrary, it sounded bored, it really sounded like a genuine question.<p>

"Who are you?" I ask harshly once again. He smirked.

"Why don't you deduce it yourself? You are… moderately clever, above the average goldfish, you may be capable." he said emotionlessly. My first instinct was to tell him that this kind of attitude is not to be had in front of a Chief during an interrogation. But, this sounded like a reasonable challenge…

"Clearly from higher society, refined tastes. Occasional smoker: that cigar box was clearly filled one week ago judging by the dates on the cigars, yet only two cigars are missing and I highly doubt that you smoke anything else.  
>Slightly eccentric mannerism, given your choice of storage for cigars, a tortoise shell, as well as the fact that you entered a Viking village in such a suit.<br>Out of shape entirely, no offense, but you clearly very rarely get out of your armchair and your passion for food has aggravated that condition.  
>On a more positive note, you are an intelligent man who holds some position with power, I assume." I say.<p>

The huge man smiled and clapped his fat palms together a couple of times, slowly.

"Good, good. I give you 9/10, I deduct one point for failing to say _exactly_ who I am. You see, but you do not observe." He said somewhat smugly. I frown. Where had I heard that before?

"Were you in peak mental acuity, you'd have realized immediately who I am, yet what happened to your mother today must have… distracted you. You have my sympathies." My jaw dropped. How did he know? Oh, that idiot guard…  
>I was just about get out to tell that guard a thing or two about telling invading strangers the biggest secrets of Berk when the man's voice stopped me.<p>

"The guard told me nothing, you may come back." He said. I turn around, dumbstruck.

"How did you know that I was going for the guard?" I ask. The enormous man rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please. I tell you about your mother and your teeth grit, your fists ball and you set off for the door as if to strike someone after I tell you something. Clearly you think he told me something. And since that guard is the one and only person I came into contact with, there was no one else who could have told me, and you know it." He said in a very superior and condescending tone.

"So how the _hell _do you know what happened to my mother?" I say, putting both my hands on the desk and leaning forward to him until our faces were just inches apart. By Odin, would I have loved to punch that smug fatso in his pearly white teeth…  
>He didn't seem intimidated by my reaction in the slightest.<p>

"The fact that something happened today which affected you is clear by your red rimmed eyes, you have cried heavily. It is most likely connected with the battle which took place today. The fact that a battle took place today is obvious by the activity around the village: injured being taken care of, supplies redistributed and so on.  
>However, nobody from your family died, otherwise I'd have seen signs of a pompous Viking funeral, which wouldn't have escaped me. The only ones that are close enough to you that their injury would affect you so much are your wife, mother and your dragon friend.<br>I have seen that reptile coordinating the dragons to heal each other, so he's eliminated, and your wife has undoubtedly helped with the healers and did chiefing duties for you while you were too broken to, as the coordination of supplies is far too accurate for any of those idiotic blackguards to have taken over, so your wife must have. Your mother's injury has affected you so much that you binge-drank, for the first time in your life, I might add, in fact…" he sniffed the air around him a little. "You stole Dr. Watson's brand of choice. 1883 Jack Daniels. Though I prefer the 1882. However, he didn't mind, given his easy-going and sympathetic personality.  
>And your mother was, in fact, tortured, most likely by Dagur the Deranged. She went to wherever the dragons were being held, freed them and then Dagur captured her. Of course, there are other possibilities, but the balance of probability leans toward that. You then killed him. Your retractable flame-sword has a spot of blood on the hilt. The only way blood would have found its way there is if you plunged it all the way to the hilt in someone's chest. Given your merciful nature, you wouldn't have done that unless you were enraged to the brink of insanity, most likely, right after you've found your mother.<br>Also, as a side-deduction, your wife is a rather appalling cook." The man finished.

I blinked at him a couple of times as if dumbstruck. How the Hel had he deduced all that? Not even Holmes was able to deduce during our first encounter that Astrid was a bad cook. This guy was even smarter than Holmes.

Could this have been… but what would he be doing here?

"Now, will you bring in Sherlock Holmes? Today, if possible?" he said in an irritated, demanding tone.

I got out, thinking of who this character could be.  
>Could it have been <em>him<em>? No way, Watson described him as rarely even straying from the path from his house to the Diogenes Club. He hated any kind of legwork or the mere thought of leaving London. It was unthinkable that he came here.  
>I went back to my house and knocked on Holmes' room. No response.<br>I tried the handle. Locked.  
>Luckily I kept spare keys for all the rooms in my house. Holmes was sitting cross-legged on the floor in a Japanese meditation-like trance, most likely immersed in his "Mind Palace".<p>

"Holmes." I try. No response. "HOLMES!" I yell. Again, no response. I began to wonder if he was asleep. I threw the stack of newspapers and written messages in front of him.

"Mycroft sent you the response." I say. With that, Holmes, jolted upwards, grinned, rubbed his hands together and undid the knot which held the papers together.

"Before you delve in there…, someone appeared out of the blue and asked for you. He looked like he's from London. Almost as soon as Sharpy came back with these." As soon as I said this, Holmes' brow creased and he got up.

"You mean that as soon as Sharpy returned, this... _someone _showed up?" he asked with barely contained anger.

"Was this… _someone_ the size of a bloody elephant?" he asked.

"You mean fat? He could beat Gobber in an eating contest. He also had this on him." I say, showing him the tortoise shell box.

Holmes began gritting his teeth and his breathing was audible. I had never seen him so angry.

"He didn't… he wouldn't dare…" he whispered harshly to no one in particular. Without another word, he took his coat and hat and rushed out of the house. I followed him.

Holmes ran into the guardhouse without paying any attention to the guard who was demanding him to first wait for his permission.  
>I heard Holmes swearing and muttering under his breath. As soon as Holmes laid eyes on the man that was waiting for him, the huge man's face turned into glee.<p>

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE MYCROFT!?" yelled Holmes.

"Good evening, brother dear. Surprised to see me, aren't you?" said Mycroft with a smile that could have eclipsed the sun.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Alright, so once again, sorry for the huge delay. And since I've been so busy and been writing in a hurry all the time and didn't really have time to properly proofread and revise the chapter, I have to ask, did I do a good job?<br>My main concerns are portraying Cloudjumper's emotions properly and Mycroft's personality. Did I do a good job? I know it's kinda ridiculous for someone who's been writing for more than a year to ask that, but I just find the need to do so._**

_**Also, if you pay attention to the sentence EXACTLY before the scene in which Sharpy returns, and you'll be able to deduce how Mycroft (and his butler, Carruthers) got on Berk... ;)**_


	30. Chapter 29- Mycroft Holmes

_Author's note:Hello everyone!_

_I am so sorry I haven't posted in... *glances at update date and gasps*_  
><em>Two months!? I've let you guys with no new chapter for two months!? How do you put up with me? XD<em>

_Anyway, the reason I haven't updated is exams and exam simulations, they sucked the life out of me. And by the time I was done studying, in my 30min break, writing was the last thing on my mind and I instead ended up watching Netflix._  
><em>Daredevil and The Flash are awesome! (though I prefer Daredevil). Goddamn... Daredevil is NOT a regular superhero show! It's dark, gritty and violent. I felt like I was watching Hannibal at some points! But it's awesome!<em>

_And on 18th of March, I turned 18! Yay! *gives you virtual champagne and cake*. I got drunk for the first time in my life at the party. XD_

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Haddock:<strong>_

Holmes was breathing heavily, his fists balled to his side, teeth gritted.

"Oh, yes, brother dear, trust me, I am just as pleased to see you as you are." Said Mycroft with arrogant sarcasm.

I couldn't believe it. So Mycroft actually _came _here? Holmes tried to compose himself for a while before beginning to speak. "I am indeed surprised to see you, for your schedule only consists of you sitting on your ever-increasing backside at the Diogenes Club, making decisions for the British government as casually as you munch on plum puddings." Said Holmes in a much calmer, mocking tone.

"Brother dear, might I ask, were you able to observe that this young man's wife is a dreadful cook?" asked Mycroft. Holmes' brow furrowed. "No, of course you didn't. Observe the candle stains around his sleeve, that type of wax is used generally in taverns, or in this case, Great Halls.  
>Of course, as a chief of his people, he has to go there and make speeches and such regularly, however, when I see stains in no less than five places, all of which recent as he clearly washes his clothes regularly, then I know that he goes there more than is required for chiefing duties.<br>For drink? No, he is a light drinker, only now getting drunk for the first time over his mother's injury. Therefore, he goes there to escape his wife's unedible sludge." Finished Mycroft. I felt my jaw twitch with anger.

"If you insult Astrid again…" I begin, taking steps toward Mycroft, but Holmes stopped me.

"How did you get here?" I asked eventually after I calmed down.

"Isn't it obvious? Did you not read the papers while in London?" asked Sherlock Holmes dryly.

"Yes, of course I did, but I don't see-" I stopped.

I remembered once reading in a London paper about how British scientists are working to improve on the Wright Brothers' patent of primitive flight. I remembered chuckling as I read that, thinking that with all their advanced technology, Berk was miles ahead of them when it came to flying, literally and figuratively.

"Ahh… Undoubtedly, your scientists and technicians have already built a prototype for an improved version of the airplane. And considering your position within the government, you had access to that prototype, and your bodyguard must have received training in operating it. You have made Sharpy guide you here." I say. Mycroft smiled smugly, looking at his brother.

"He is smarter than you were at his age, brother dear. Should he return to London he may put you and Dr. Watson out of a job." He said, earning a chuckle out of me and an angry narrow glare from Holmes.

"Now then, Mycroft, why did you come here? And don't tell me that England needs me, _you _need me. And you are _not_ England." Said Holmes sternly, yet calmly. "Though… should your waistline expand much further…" added Holmes with a smirk one second later.

Really, Holmes' only comeback to Mycroft is a crack about his weight? And he called me and Astrid childish…

"-As generic and as drab as it may sound, yes brother, the country needs you. Your little vacation here is over. Someone has placed people into the nobility ring, bought weapon, steel and opium companies. And as soon as one company is bought by an anonymus investor, the previous owner dies in circumstances which the feather-headed Scotland Yard call "household accidents" or "natural deaths".  
>And I highly suspect that there is only one person responsible for all of these "acquisitions". I have made a circle of suspects, but-<p>

-It's Moriarty." Said Holmes, cutting Mycroft's speech short.

For the first time since I saw him, Mycroft's huge face assumed a flabbergasted expression.

"I should remind you that his body was never found." Said Holmes before his brother could say anything else. "Is any other outcome possible when someone gets thrown into a swirling waterfall?" Asked Mycroft angrily for the first time.

"It's not just that, Mycroft.  
>I saw him. In Edelweiss Asylum, during the case which I wish not to talk about. He has now recovered, and escaped. Following his escape, he must have used his old contacts to gain funds in order to bribe newspapers not to talk about his breakout.<br>And now, he is cooperating, or rather, puppeteering Drago Bludvist. Who knows for how long Moriarty has been free?  
>Months? Years?<br>Either way, he must be stopped." Said Holmes. Mycroft eventually resumed his stoic attitude.

"I cannot say that I am completely surprised, for the modus operandi of buying companies and sneaking corrupt Lords into the gentry is the same as that of the Professor. But… I simply found the balance of probability to lean against that." Said Mycroft.

"It did lean against that, but the bastard's lucky." I said, wincing once again at the mere thought that Drago was teamed up with someone as intelligent and malefic as Moriarty…

"Therefore, Sherlock, I believe there are no more objections to you getting out of this… world which I believe not even your wildest cocaine-trips ever could conceive." Said Mycroft.

"Not yet." Said Holmes.

"What!?" questioned Mycroft.

"Haddock is coming with us." He said.

My heart skipped a beat at this statement and I looked at the detective with a dumbstruck expression for a minute. I calmed in the next. Because there was no way I was letting Holmes face Drago and Moriarty alone.

Also because there was no way I wasn't going to kill Drago with my own hands…

This time, no more mercy…

That bastard… I would rip off his remaining arm and beat him to death with it…

Every dragon he killed and tortured will be nothing compared to what I would do to him…

"Haddock?" came Holmes' voice, bringing me out of my thoughts. "You were gritting your teeth. Stop thinking about Drago. Rage clouds the thought, as does any other emotion." Said Holmes. I was about to ask him how he figured it out, but it was pointless. I noticed that my hands were forward and tight as if I was imagining that I was strangling someone. What was going on with me?

Was my own desire to stop Drago turning me into him?

"Why should he come? Firstly, you, me, Dr. Watson and my contacts within the government are more than enough to put Moriarty in his place once again, this time for good.  
>Secondly, he needs to lead this village of bumbling morons who would probably try to pick their teeth with axes the moment he turns his back." Said Mycroft. Once again, Holmes had to hold me so that I didn't punch him for insulting my people.<p>

Though, Ruffnut and Tuffnut would probably try picking their teeth with axes, if they haven't already…

"Impulsive. Though you clearly have only been this way since your father died and the responsibility of the entire village fell on your shoulders." Said Mycroft.

"Mycroft, I think that's enough. I know it's usually I who shows off and you wish to brag as well, but this young man is about to snap, and take my word for it, he is far stronger than he looks." Said Holmes as he put himself between me and Mycroft.

"This man has done more for the world in six years than I did all my life. And unlike me, he is not afraid of showing emotion or sharing his love. And he is personally tied to the case. I think it's only fair he gets to also close it with me. He has already proven to be smarter than me in many domains." Said Holmes to Mycroft.

My mouth was ajar. Had Holmes really said? Had arrogant, stuck-up, brilliant, insufferably smug Sherlock Holmes really admitted that he was inferior to someone else? Mycroft seemed equally surprised by Holmes' statement, but he recovered in the next second, regaining his staunch, stoic composture.

"Very well. But I fail to see why he cannot come straight away." Said Mycroft.

"Can you not understand Mycroft? I know that you are the one who taught me that caring is not an advantage, but you should understand that other people care, and by caring, they cannot complete such great a task such as taking Moriarty's rebuilt criminal network.  
>His mother nearly died. And he cannot leave before she recovers." Said Holmes.<p>

Mycroft stood up so suddenly I flinched. His face was a mixture of shock and anger, his grey eyes blazing.

"That's preposterous! She may never make a full recovery in the first place! You're telling me that you're staying until she can walk again!? That could take months!" yelled Mycroft.

"Not with Watson. Her wounds were life-threatening, yes, but he has managed to stabilize her. All we have to do is wait. The most severe of her trauma will be mental. And I come back when Haddock comes back. He has already proven that his help will be invaluable." Said Holmes. Mycroft resumed his stoic glance while stroking his fat double chin.

"Is it because of that alone that you wish to remain a few extra days?" asked Mycroft.

"Yes." Answered Holmes simply.

"It is not." Said Mycroft as he suddenly grabbed Holmes' watch-chain and turned Holmes' silver pocket watch on its side. Holmes tried getting his watch back, but Mycroft merely showed the back of the watch with a triumphant grin.

On its back was a black scale. One of Toothless' scales.

My jaw dropped.

"How long have you had that brother? You've had it for… quite a few weeks now. I'd say you've plastered it right after you met Toothless, judging from how the glue has aged and the percentage of how much of it bonded with the metal. Another Irene Adler case, isn't it? First the silver sovereign on you watch-chain, now a dragon scale. What was it you said about emotional involvement?  
>In fact, what <em>I <em>say about emotion?" said Mycroft smugly, yet oddly enough, his tone and expression was serious. I could tell that he was the source of Holmes' stoic, indifferent, almost antisocial attitude.

But… did Holmes really care so much about Toothless? I remembered how back in the woods, when he came to return my gear and convince me that he meant me no harm, what his reaction was when he deduced that Toothless had been forced to kill my father, or just how guilty he looked when I figured out that Toothless had been whipped, so guilty in fact, that he let himself get punched by me…  
>I glanced at Holmes, but he avoided my gaze and busied himself with stuffing his pocket watch back into the front pocket of his waistcoat.<p>

"If there is anyone on this island who is deserving of my attention especially, then it's Toothless. He is remarkable in every single sense of the word. He has saved countless men and dragons, he contributed to bringing peace in the Archipelago and he won the title of Alpha." Said Holmes, glaring at Mycroft.

"Perhaps. But, remember, brother dear, caring is not an advantage. Remember Redbeard?" asked Mycroft.

Redbeard? Who was Redbeard? Holmes jaw tensed and his right fist clenched, his eyes surren, and for a moment, I thought he would strike his older brother.

"I'm not a child anymore, Mycroft." Spat Holmes as he stomped out of the guardroom, leaving me flabbergasted.

"Hm. Still emotionally involved…" muttered Mycroft.

"Now, my brother mentioned in his letter that you have captured Samuel Crooke. I would like to have him in order to transfer him to a British prison, where he shall receive the proper punishment for what he has done. And don't worry: Carruthers, my bodyguard who is momentarily waiting in the woods with my prototype, is more than enough to guard one assassin: I can safely say that Carruthers surpasses even Her Majesty's bodyguards when it comes to vigilance and combat ability." Said Mycroft as he got up.

I saw no reason not to comply: after all, it was only a matter of time before Samuel would escape: if he was able to evade capture so many years from Europe's finest counterspies, a rudimentary Viking dungeon would be no match for him.

"Haddock, my dear fellow, your mother is resting now, she should wake up in-" came Watson's voice as he entered the guardhouse.

He stopped instantly when he saw Mycroft. His jaw dropped. Watson started and stopped sentences without anything coherent.

"Really, Doctor? You walked straight past dragons without a care in the world coming to this shed, yet I am a jaw-dropping sight?" asked Mycroft with an arrogant smirk, leaving the guardhouse, leaving a shocked and stammering Watson behind.

* * *

><p>"You'll regret this! Mark my words!" snarled Samuel the assassin as me and Mycroft dragged him to where Mycroft said that he had hidden his plane, on the far side of the island, where no one could spot it.<p>

"There it is." Said Mycroft as we entered a large clearing. The plane looked nothing like those flimsy canvas things I had seen in illustrated papers.

For starters, it had three large holes along the top of its body, each capable of holding two passengers.  
>The propeller was bulkier than I had seen on the earlier prototypes in pictures and connected a stocky, powerful-looking engine. Other than that, the plane looked somewhat bland: nothing decorative whatsoever, not even a coat of paint, this was a prototype, through and through. Leaning against it was a tall, middle-aged man in an all-black tweed suit smoking a cigarette.<p>

Though he was clearly an expert at hiding it, I realized that he had a small revolver and a dagger in his coat-pockets (Holmes had taught me how to observe such small things). Small scars on his knuckles and the shape of his fingers revealed years of martial arts and his slightly swollen right index finger told me that he was a crack shot.  
>His moustache was barely a thin, auburn line above his lip, a stark contrast from Watson's thick, almost Scottish-like moustache.<br>His small blue, almost emotionless eyes revealed that he wouldn't hesitate to take a man's life, should it come to that, but he wasn't a killer, not by a long shot.

"Ah, Carruthers, the lapdog! You give Dr. Watson a run for his money in terms of boot-licking!" exclaimed Samuel in mockery.  
>Carruthers didn't even look at the assassin as he took another drag from his cigarette.<p>

"A marvel of British engineering." Said Mycroft in a slightly more excited tone as he gestured a meaty hand toward the plane, but he still sounded slightly emotionless.

"Soon they 'll be able to fly faster and higher than any dragon from around here." Said Mycroft, earning a scoff out of me.

"Do you really think that this clunky… thing will ever surpass a dragon?" I ask in a tone almost as arrogant as Mycroft's.

"I don't think so, I _know_ so." Said Mycroft very matter-of-factly.

While I couldn't deny that it was a marvel of engineering, I highly doubted that this ugly heap of metal could ever go faster or higher than any healthy dragon. And even if it came to that, there was no way it could also provide the bond and friendship that befriending a dragon could bring. The bodyguard walked toward me, slowly outstretching his hand.

"Malcolm Carruthers." He said in a surprisingly friendly, young voice.

"Hiccup Horrendous Haddock The Third. Call me Hector, that's the name I went by in London." I said, shaking his sinewy hand.

Suddenly, I heard something which sounded like a twig snapping.

In an instant, Carruthers gasped in surprise, shoved me to the ground, drew a syringe and threw it.

I heard it hitting flesh and someone grunting as they became unconscious. Samuel had the syringe stuck in the side of his neck, half the sedative from the tube into his system, the piston having been pushed from the sheer momentum. The assassin twitched a couple of times while gurgling.

Carruthers rushed to him and pulled the syringe out of his neck .

"What was that all about?" I asked breathlessly.

"This." Answered Carruthers as he took a thick stick out of Samuel's handcuffed hands. One of the ends was jagged and sharp.  
>It was then that I remembered the sound of a twig snapping: he had grabbed a thick stick while being dragged here and he tried to stab me with it.<p>

Even with such a crude weapon and with his hands tied, an expert killer like Samuel Crooke would have undoubtedly been able to kill me. A cold, terrible shiver ran down my spine as I realized just how terrible it would have been to get stabbed by such a rudimentary weapon…

"Thanks, Malcolm." I say breathlessly to Mycroft's bodyguard. Samuel still wasn't fully knocked out. He was still gasping for air. He glared at me, even in his state, his stare could melt through steel and it would have chilled me to the bone if it hadn't been for the fact that I knew I was completely safe.

"This… isn't… the last… you'll see of me, Haddock..." He snarled through gritted teeth just before he finally passed out.

Somehow, I just knew that he was right, and that I would have to face Moriarty's most merciless assassin once again… That thought made my heart plummet into my stomach…

I helped Mycroft and Carruthers haul Samuel into the back of the plane and tie him securely.

"Are you sure you can help Sherlock and Dr. Watson after what happened?" asked Mycroft.

"Yes." I answered quickly. Even if my mother wouldn't make a full recovery within a few days, there was no way I wasn't going to take care of Drago with my own hands… He would pay for what he did…

I wouldn't kill him immediately.

No, first I would break his dignity, make him beg and suffer…

"Sir? Are you alright?" asked Carruthers. It was then that I realized that I had once again slipped into my darkest thoughts and I saw that my fists were balled to their sides and sweat was coming down my forehead despite the cold.

"Yeah, Mal, I'm fine." I answered.

"He was merely fantasizing about the most gruesome of ways in which he could kill Drago Bludvist." Answered Mycroft casually.

"Why else would you grit your teeth while balling your fists after I mention a mission in which you go after your nemesis? Not to mention that you had the look of a lion ready to pounce." answered the elder Holmes brother before I could ask him how he deduced that. I was about to glare at him, when I realized that he was right… I was imagining how I would kill Drago, in every minute, gory detail…

What was happening to me?

"Mycroft, can you answer me something?" I ask, desperate to change the subject.

"Ask away." He answered absently, not even looking at me.

"Who's Redbeard?" I ask, remembering how Holmes had furrowed his brow when Mycroft mentioned that name.

"Sherlock's dog." He answered.

"-He got attached to that creature in his childhood years. I had never seen anyone so attached to an animal. He could have given you and that oversized black cat a run for your money friendship-wise.

-I somehow doubt that." I replied dryly.

"Irrelevant. Nevertheless, he treated that Irish Setter as his best friend. Understandable, as he never did have friends during his childhood due to his intellect and me discouraging it.  
>Why mingle with people of lower intellect? It will do nothing but bring you down to their level!<br>However, one day, Redbeard got ill. Terminally. Sherlock was sixteen.

He would lock himself in his room and just spend time with that lop-eared creature, go out for days, spend every last minute of every day with him…" continued Mycroft.

As he said this, his tone was something inbetween nostalgic and disgusted, but also… strangely melancholic.

"When it finally did come to putting Redbeard down… that broke my little brother. He stopped studying altogether, neglected his intellect and barely touched his food. I tried talking sense into him, saying that he shouldn't be so down over the death of a mere dog, that he needs to forget about it.

Delete it.

I hardly need to tell you, it didn't go so well." He continued.

"About a week later, he disappeared. I searched his room for clues, deducing everything I could. I found his wallet.  
>I deduced from the widened folds that he had taken more than half of its contents. Why take so much money in his state?<br>Simple: drugs. This is what hardened my brother's cocaine addiction.  
>I eventually narrowed down where he could be at just three cocaine and opium dens. I further deduced the one by realizing that in his state, Sherlock wouldn't care where he went, he'd just go to the nearest one.<p>

I ignored my contacts who offered themselves to go that den of sin in my place and I went into that foul neighbourhood myself. This was the only time I made any legwork following my deductions." Said Mycroft.

Though he was trying to keep his tone as stoic as ever, he wavered ever so slightly, and his grey eyes became surren and he looked down, avoiding my gaze for the first time.

"I then found him. Just before he overdosed. He rambled, didn't make any sense, but from what I understood, the drugs he took managed to get him into a sort of… trip in which he imagined himself with Redbeard and... our parents.

I realized my mistake: scolding Sherlock for mourning his dog instead of being the brother he deserved. That dog was his only friend.  
>Our parents died assassinated by Indian spies when I was employed by the government the first time (I was merely twenty), and we lived extremely isolated lifestyles. It was then that I taught him that caring is not an advantage.<p>

Look at how much pain caring about a mere dog caused him. He nearly drugged himself to death and his cocaine habit still hasn't died completely to this day.

All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.

And now I'm worried, he cares deeply about his partner, Inspector Lestrade, even Mrs. Hudson, his landlady. And now, he became attached to your… friend in a spectacularly short period of time." Said Mycroft concluding his speech. I thought about what he said.

Sherlock Holmes pretended to not care about sentiment or emotions, and, by and large, he didn't, but the way he acted around Toothless, the way he held my wrist before opening the door which led to my half-dead mother… But then I realized something… This made Mycroft somewhat of a hypocrite…

"But you do care." I say to him.

"Sorry?" he asked with a flabbergasted expression.

"You say caring is not an advantage, but you care about your brother. You, who despises walking and takes a cab even for the three-block way to the Diogenes Club, comes all the way into literally uncharted territory full of Vikings and creatures that aren't even supposed to exist? And why? For your brother, and don't you tell me that you did it only to get him back for England!" I said as I saw that he was about to retort.

That left Mycroft silent.

"Every rule has an exception. It's just that my brother has made too many exceptions too easily.  
>Tell me, how many exceptions can you apply to a rule before that rule becomes obsolete to you?" said Mycroft eventually.<p>

"You may think of caring as a barrier, Mycroft. I shall think of it as stimulant.  
>Caring and emotion fuels you, motivates you to do things you otherwise couldn't because you <em>care<em>.  
>What would have happened if I didn't care about Berk? The most logical solution back when Drago took control of all the dragons was to run and gather strength from other allied tribes.<p>

But I didn't, I went straight at him, because I _cared _about what happened to Berk_._ What would have happened if I didn't?

Berk would be in ruins and right now, Drago would have moved past the Archipelago and maybe even attacked England and the rest if the world." I reasoned. It took all my self control not to grin when I saw that I had left Mycroft speechless yet a second time.

"You are every bit as brilliant as my brother without having to exempt yourself from emotion." Said Mycroft with amazement and… respect?

"Goodbye." Said he as he shook my hand with his large, fat, meaty hand, which surprisingly, wasn't particularly powerful. I also shook Malcolm Carruthers' hand and once again thanked him for saving my life and set off with the promise that I'd be back in England within days to stop Drago and Moriarty.

"Haddock?" called out Mycroft.

"Yes?" I asked turning around. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Mycroft's usually proud, arrogant gaze looking at his feet with longing and guilt.

"Take care of my brother, will you? Be the brother I couldn't be." He said. I was legitimately blown away by how he had removed his mask of arrogance and superhuman intelligence to reveal a true human being.

"Of course." I replied after recovering from my daze.

"Thank you." He replied simply as he got into the prototype plane.

* * *

><p><em>Alright, guys, sorry that this chapter ended up being just filler, but it was necessary! I really felt the need to expand on Mycroft's character. I planned on also showing Valka having nightmares and showing a Third Person POV showing what Moriarty and Drago were up to, but I figured I had left you guys too much without a chapter.<em>

_Unfortunately, this crap schedeule of once every two month update is probably here to stay until summer, due to a mix of exams, picking a college and writer's block._

_But, on a brighter side, I saw Zootopia (Zootropolis in my country) with my little brother (he's seven) and it was AWESOME! Better than Frozen! Nuff said!_

_Have any of you guys seen it? In fact, I loved it so much, I had a plan: since I get writer's block more and more often on this story, I may try to write something else. This is what happened when I wrote the Oneshot "Memories" (I'm really proud of that story)._  
><em>Soooo... when I get writer's block, I was thinking... maybe write Zootopia oneshots! Or stories from other fandoms! What do you guys think?<em>

_P.S. To NightsAnger: Expect a PM from me soon, if you've seen Zootopia, since I have a great idea for a fanfic for it. If you haven't, then you can't help me. But seriously, watch it. This, Inside Out and Frozen are proof that Disney is back at making great movies! :D_

Also, again, I've turned 18, so here's some more cake! God, I'm so childish XD

_See you guys soon! (hopefully)_


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